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THE 


IMPROVISATORE. 


BY 

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 

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TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH BY 


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BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 
®!)e Eiijerisilie PrtBti, C-ambtilse. 

1879. 


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RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED AND^PRINTED Bl’ 
H, O. HOUGHTON ANjD COMPANY. 

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ADVERTISEMENT. 


“The Improvisatore ’’ is the first of a series of Hans 
Christian Andersen’s complete Works, published by arrange- 
ment with the author, who has an interest in each book pub- 
lished. No uniform or complete edition of his works in 
English dress has ever appeared; the present edition by 
the American Publishers follows the author’s Copenhagen 
Edition, together with additions and notes furnished by Mr. 
Andersen especially for this series. It gives the American 
Publishers great pleasure to be the means of introducing 
Andersen as a novelist, traveller, and poet to the large audi- 
ence on this side of the water already familiar with his stories 
told for children. The remaining volumes of the series will 
follow rapidly, and the entire set will be completed at an 
early day. ; • 


New York, yu 7 tey 1869. 



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CONTENTS 


• 

CHAPTER L 

PAGE 

FHE CIRCUMSTANCES OF MY CHILDHOOD . . . I 


CHAPTER H. 

THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. — I BECOME A CHORISTER. — THE 

LOVELY ANGEL-CHILD. — THE IMPROVISATORE ... 8 

CHAPTER HI. 

THE FLOWER-FEAST AT GENZANO .20 

CHAPTER IV. 

UNCLE PEPPO. — THE NIGHT IN THE COLISEUM. — THE ADVICE . 3I 

CHAPTER V. 

THE CAMPAGNA 39 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE VISIT IN THE BORGHESE PALACE. — END OF THE HISTORY OF 

MY CHILDHOOD 48 


CHAPTER VII. 

SCHOOL-LIFE. — HABEAS DAHDAH. — DIVINA COMMEDIA. — THE 

senator’s nephew 56 


CHAPTER VHI. 

A WELCOME AND AN UNWELCOME MEETING. — THE LITTLE AB- 
BESS. — THE OLD JEW • 69 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE JEW MAIDEN 


78 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

PACE 

A. YEAR LATER. — THE ROMAN CARNIVAL. — THE SINGER • . 84 

CHAPTER XI. 

BERNARDO AS DEUS EX MACHINA. — ‘'LA PRUOVA D’UN OPERA 
SERIA.” — MY FIRST IMPROVISATION. — THE LAST DAYS OF THE 
CARNIVAL 

CHAPTER XH. 

LENT. — ALLEGRI’S MISERERE IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL. — VISIT TO 

BERNARDO. — ANNUNCIATA 

CHAPTER XIH. 

THE PICTURE GALLERY. — A MORE PRECISE EXPLANATION. — 
EASTER. — THE TURNING POINT OF MY HISTORY . • 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE PEASANTS OF ROCCA DEL PAPA. — THE ROBBERS’ CAVE. — 1 HE 

PARCiE OF MY LIFE 14 ^ 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE PONTINE MARSHES. — TERRACINA. — AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

— FRA DIAVOLO’S NATIVE CITY. — THE ORANGE-GARDEN AT 
MOLO DI GAETA. — THE NEAPOLITAN SIGNORA. — NAPLES . I56 

CHAPTER XVI. 

PAIN AND CONSOLATION. — NEARER ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SIG- 
NORA. — THE LETTER. — HAVE I MISUNDERSTOOD HER? . I7I 

CHAPTER XVII. 

RAMBLE THROUGH HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. — THE EVENING 

ON VESUVIUS 184 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. — MY DEBUT IN SAN CARLO . . I94 

CHAPTER XIX. 

SANTA. — THE ERUPTION. — OLD CONNECTIONS .... 20 $ 

CHAPTER XX. 

TOUKNEY TO P^:STUM. — THE GRECIAN TEMPLE. — THE BLIND GIRL 2 x 8 


CONTENTS. Vll 

CHAPTER XXL 

PAGE 

THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI. — THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI ' . 228 

CHAPTER XXH. 

JOURNEY HOME . 248 

CHAPTER XXHI. 

EDUCATION. — THE YOUNG ABBESS 253 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

OLD DOMENICA. — THE DISCOVERY. — THE EVENING IN NEPI. — 

THE boatman’s SONG. — VENICE . 276 

CHAPTER XXV. 

the STORM. — SOIREE AT MY BANKER’S. — THE NIECE OF ‘ THE 

PODESTA 289 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE SINGER 3OI 

CHAPTER XXVH. 

POGGIO. — ANNUNCIATA. — MARIA 312 

CHAPTER XXVHI. 


THE REMARKABLE OBJECTS IN VERONA. — THE CATHEDRAL OF 
MILAN. — THE MEETING AT THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH OF NAPO- 
LEON. — DREAM AND REALITY. — THE BLUE GROTTO 


325 


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THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

W HOEVER has been in Rome is well acquainted with the 
Piazza Barberina, in the great square, with the beauti- 
ful fountain where the Tritons empty the spouting conch-shell, 
from which the water springs upwards many feet. Whoever 
has not been there, knows it, at all events, from copper-plate 
engravings ; only it is a pity that in these the house at the 
corner of the Via Felice is not given, — that tall corner-house, 
where the water pours through three pipes out of the wall 
down into a stone basin. That house has a peculiar interest 
for me ; it was there that I was born. If I look back to my 
tender youth, such a crowd of bright remembrances meet me, 
that I scarcely know where to begin ; when I contemplate 
the whole drama of my life, still less do I know what I should 
bring forward, what I should pass over as unessential, and 
what points may suffice to represent the whole picture. That 
which appears attractive to me may not be so to a stranger. 
I will relate truly and naturally the great story, but then vanity 
must come into play, — the wicked vanity, the desire to please. 
Already, in my childhood, it sprung up like a plant, and, like 
the mustard-seed of the gospel, shot forth its branches to- 
wards heaven, and became a mighty tree, in which my pas- 
sions builded themselves nests. 

One of my earliest recollections points thereto. I was turned 
six years old, and was playing in the neighborhood of the 
church of the Capuchins, with some other children, who were 
all younger than myself. There was fastened on the church- 
door a little cross of metal ; it was fastened about the middle 


2 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


of the door, and I could just reach it with my hand. Always 
when our mothers had passed by with us they had lifted us 
up that we might kiss the holy sign. One day, when we 
children were playing, one of the youngest of them inquired 
AVhy the child Jesus did not come down and pby with us ? 

T assumed an air of wisdom, and replied that he was really 
bound upon the cross. We went to the church-door, and, 
although we found no one, we wished, as our mothers had 
taught us, to kiss him, but we could not reach up to it ; one, 
therefore, lifted up the other, but just as the lips were pointed 
for the kiss that one who lifted the other lost his strength, and 
the kissing one fell down just when his lips were about to 
touch the invisible child Jesus. At that moment my mother 
came by, and, when she saw our child’s play, she folded her 
hands, and said, “ You are actually some of God’s angels ! 
And thou art mine own angel ! ” added she, and kissed me. 

I heard her repeat to a neighbor what an innocent angel I 
was, and it pleased me greatly, but it lessened my innocence 
— the mustard-seed of vanity drank in therefrom the first 
sunbeams. Nature had given to me a gentle, pious character, 
but my good mother made me aware of it ; she showed me 
my real and my imaginary endowments, and never thought 
that it is with the innocence of the child as with the basilisk, 
which dies when it sees itself. 

The Capuchin monk. Fra Martino, was my mother’s con- 
fessor, and she related to him what a pious child I was. I 
also knew several prayers very nicely by heart, although I did 
not understand one of them. He made very much of me, and 
gave me a picture of the Virgin weeping great tears, which 
fell, like rain-drops, down into the burning flames of hell, 
where the damned caught this draught of refreshment. He 
took me over with him into the convent, where the open colon- 
nade, which inclosed within a square the little potato-garden, 
with the two cypress and orange-trees, made a very deep im- 
pression upon me. Side by side, in the open passages, hung 
old portraits of deceased monks, and on the door of each cell 
were pasted pictures from the history of the martyrs, which I 
contemplated with the same holy reverence as afterwards the 
masterpiece? of Raphael and Andrew del Sarto. 


THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 3 

“ Thou art really a bright youth/’ said he ; “ thou shalt now 
see the dead.” 

Upon this, he opened a little door of a gallery which lay a 
few steps below the colonnade. We descended, and now I 
saw round about me skulls upon skulls, so placed one upon 
another that they formed walls, and therewith several chapels. 
In these were regular niches, in which were seated perfect 
skeletons of the most distinguished of the monks, enveloped 
in their brown cowls, and with a breviary or a withered bunch 
of flowers in their hands. Altars, chandeliers, and ornaments 
were made of shoulder-bones and vertebrae, with bass-reliefs 
of human joints, horrible and tasteless as the whole idea. 

I clung fast to the monk, who whispered a prayer, and then 
said to me, — 

Here also I shall some time sleep ; wilt thou thus visit 
me ? ” 

I answered not a word, but looked horrified at him, and 
then round about me upon the strange, grisly assembly. It 
was foolish to take me, a child, into this place. I was sin- 
gularly impressed by the whole thing, and did not feel myself 
again easy until I came into his little cell, where the beautiful 
yellow oranges almost hung in at the window, and I saw the 
brightly colored picture of the Madonna, who was borne up- 
wards by angels into the clear sunshine, while a thousand 
flowers filled the grave in which she had rested. 

This, my first visit to the convent, occupied my imagination 
for a long time, and stands yet with extraordinary vividness 
before me. This monk seemed to me quite a different being 
to any other person whom I knew \ his abode in the neighbor- 
hood of the dead, who, in their brown cloaks, looked almost 
like himself, the many histories which he knew and could re- 
late of holy men and wonderful miracles, together with my 
mother’s great reverence for his sanctity, caused me to begin 
thinking whether I too could not be such a man. 

My mother was a widow, and had no other means of sub- 
sistence than what she obtained by sewing and by the rent of 
a large room which we ourselves had formerly inhabited. We 
lived now in a little chamber in the roof, and a young painter, 
Federigo, had the saloon, as we called it. He was a life-eniov- 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


4 

ing, brisk, young man, who came from a far, far country, 
where they knew nothing about the Madonna and the child 
Jesus, my mother said. He was from Denmark. I had at 
that time no idea that there existed more languages than one, 
and I believed, therefore, that he was deaf, when he did not 
understand me, and, for that reason, I spoke to him as loud as 
I could ; he laughed at me, often brought me fruit, and drew 
for me soldiers, horses, and houses. We soon became ac- 
quainted : I loved him much, and my mother said many a 
time that he was a very upright person. 

In the mean time I heard a conversation one evening be- 
tween my mother and the monk Fra Martino, which excited 
in me a sorrowful emotion for the young artist. My mother 
inquired if this foreigner would actually be eternally con- 
demned to hell. 

“ He and many other foreigners also,” she said, are, in- 
deed, very honest people, who never do anything wicked. 
They are good to the poor, pay exactly, and at the fixed time ; 
nay, it actually often seems to me that they are not such great 
sinners as many of us.” 

“Yes,” replied Fra Martino, “ that is very true, — they are 
often very good people ; but do you know how that happens ? 
You see, the Devil, who goes about the world, knows that the 
heretics will sometime belong to him, and so he never tempts 
them ; and, therefore, they can easily be honest, easily give up 
sin ; on the contrary, a good Catholic Christian is a child of 
God, and, therefore, the Devil sets his temptations in array 
against him, and we weak creatures are subjected. But a 
heretic, as one may say, is tempted neither of the flesh nor 
the Devil ! ” 

To this my mother could make no reply, and sighed deeply 
over the poor young man ; I began to cry, for it seemed to 
me that it was a cruel sin that he should be burned eternally 
— he who was so good, and who drew me such beautiful pic- 
tures. 

A third person who played a great part in my childhood's 
life, was Uncle Peppo, commonly called “Wicked Peppo,” 
or “ the King of the Spanish Steps,” ^ where he had his daily 

^ There lead from the Spanish Place up to Monte Pincio, a broad flight 


THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 


S 

residence. Born with two withered legs, which lay crossed 
under him, he had had from his earliest childhood an extraor- 
dinary facility in moving himself forwards with his hands. 
These he stuck under a frame which was fastened at both 
ends to a board, and, by the help of this, he could move him- 
self forward almost as easily as any other person with healthy 
and strong feet. He sat daily, as has been said, upon the 
Spanish Steps, never indeed begging, but exclaiming, with a 
crafty smile, to every passer-by, ‘‘ hon giorno /’^ and that even 
after the sun was gone down. 

My mother did not like him much, nay, indeed, she was 
ashamed of the relationship, but for my sake, as she often 
told me, she kept up a friendship with him. He had that in 
his chest which we others must look after, and if I kept good 
friends with him I should be his only heir, if he did not give it 
to the Church. He had, also, after his own way, a sort of 
liking for me, yet I never felt myself quite happy in his neigh- 
borhood. Once I was the witness of a scene which awoke in 
me fear of him, and also exhibited his own disposition. Upon 
one of the lowest flights of stairs sat an old blind beggar, and 
rattled with his little leaden box that people might drop a 
bajocco therein. Many people passed by my uncle without 
noticing his crafty smile and the wavings of his hat ; the blind 
man gained more by his silence — they gave to him. Three 
had gone by, and now came the fourth, and threw him a 
small coin. Peppo could no longer contain himself; I saw 
how he crept down like a snake, and struck the blind man in 
his face, so that he lost both money and stick. 

Thou thief ! cried my uncle, “ wilt thou steal money 
from me — thou who art not even a regular cripple ? Cannot 
see ! — that is all his infirmity ! — and so he will take my 
bread from my mouth ! ’’ 

I neither heard nor saw more, but hastened home with the 
flask of wine which I had been sent to purchase. On the 
great festival days I was always obliged to go with my mother 
to visit him at his own house ; we took with us one kind of 

of stone steps. These, which consist of four flights, are an especial re- 
sort of the beggars of Rome, and from their locality, bear the name of the 
Spanish Steps. — Author's Note. 


6 


THE IMPROVISATORE 


present or other, — either fine grapes or preserved golden pip- 
pins, which were his greatest luxury. I was then obliged to 
kiss his hand and call him uncle ; then he smiled so strangely, 
and gave me a half-bajocco, always adding the exhortation 
that I should keep it to look at, not spend it in cakes, for 
when these were eaten I had nothing left, but that if I kept 
my coin I should always have something. 

His dwelling was dark and dirty : in one little room there 
was no window at all, and in the other it was almost up to the 
ceiling with broken and patched-up panes. Of furniture 
there was not one article, except a great wide chest, which 
served him for a bed, and two tubs, in which he kept his 
clothes. I always cried when I had to go there \ and true it 
is, however much my mother persuaded me to be very afiec- 
tionate towards him, yet she always made use of him as a 
bugbear when she would punish me ; she said then that she 
would send me to my dirty uncle, that I should sit and sing 
beside him upon the stairs, and thus do something useful and 
earn a bajocco. But I knew that she never meant so ill by 
me ; I was the apple of her eye. 

On the house of our opposite neighbor there was an image 
of the Virgin, before which a lamp was always burning. 
Every evening when the bell rang the Ave Maria, I and the 
neighbors’ children knelt before it, and sang in honor of the 
mother of God, and the pretty child Jesus, which they had 
adorned with ribbons, beads, and silver hearts. By the waver- 
ing lamp-light it often seemed to me as if both mother and 
child moved and smiled upon us. I sang with a high, clear 
voice ; and people said that I sang beautifully. Once there 
stood an English family and listened to us ; and, when we rose 
up from our knees, the gentleman gave me a silver piece ; “ it 
was,” my mother said, because of my fine voice.” But 
how much distraction did this afterwards cause me ! I 
thought no longer alone on the Madonna when I sung before 
her image ; no ! I thought, did any one listen to my beautiful 
singing ; but always when I thought so there succeeded a 
burning remorse ; I was afraid that she would be angry with 
me ; and I prayed right innocently that she would look down 
upon me, poor child ! 


THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 


7 

The evening-song was, in the mean time, the only point of 
union between me and the other neighbors’ children. I lived 
quietly, entirely in my own self-created dream-world \ I lay 
for hours upon my back, with my face to the open window, 
looking out into the wonderful, gloriously blue, Italian heaven, 
into the play of colors at the going down of the sun, when the 
clouds hung with their violet-hued edges upon a golden 
ground. Often I wished that I could fly far beyond the 
Quirinal and the houses, to the great pine-trees, which stood 
like black shadow-flgures against the fire-red horizon. I had 
quite another scene on the other side of our room : there lay 
our own and our neighbors’ yards, each a small, narrow space, 
inclosed by tall houses, and almost shut in from above by the 
great wooden balconies. In the middle of each yard there 
was a well inclosed with masonry, and the space between this 
and the walls of the houses was not greater than to admit of 
one person moving round. Thus, from above I looked prop- 
erly only into two deep wells ; they were entirely overgrown 
with that fine plant which we call Venus’-hair, and which, 
hanging down, lost itself in the dark depth. It was to me as 
if I could see deep down into the earth, where my fancy then 
created for herself the strangest pictures. In the mean time, 
my mother adorned that window with a great rod, to show me 
what fruit grew for me there, that I might not fall down and 
get drowned. 

But I will now mention an occurrence which might easily 
have put an end to my life’s history before it had come into 
any entanglement. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. — I BECOME A CHORISTER. *— 
THE LOVELY ANGEL-CHILD. THE IMPROVISATORE. 

O UR lodger, the young painter, took me with him some- 
times on his little rambles beyond the gates. I did not 
disturb him whilst he was making now and then a sketch ; and 
when he had finished he amused himself with my prattle, for 
he now understood the language. 

Once before, I had been with him to the curia hostilia^ deep 
down into the dark caves where, in ancient days, wild beasts 
were kept for the games, and where innocent captives were 
thrown to ferocious hyenas and lions. The dark passages ; 
the monk who conducted us in, and continually struck the red 
torch against the walls ; the deep cistern in which the water 
stood as clear as a mirror, — yes, so clear, that one was obliged 
to move it with the torch to convince one’s self that it was up 
to the brim, and that there was no empty space, as by its 
clearness there seemed to be, — all this excited my imagina- 
tion. Fear, I felt none, for I was unconscious of danger. 

“ Are we going to the caverns ? ” I inquired from him, as 
I saw at the end of the street the higher part of the Coli- 
seum. 

No, to something much greater,” replied he ; “where thou 
shalt see something ! And I will paint thee, also, my fine fel- 
low ! ” 

Thus wandered we further, and ever further, between the 
white walls, the inclosed vineyards, and the old ruins of the 
baths, till we were out of Rome. The sun burned hotly, 
and the peasants had made for their wagons roofs of green 
branches, under which they slept, while the horses, left to 
themselves, went at a foot’s pace, and ate from the bundle of 


THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. 9 

hay which hung beside them for this purpose. At length we 
reached the grotto of Egeria, in which we took our breakfast, 
and mixed our wine with the fresh water that streamed out 
from between the blocks of stone. The walls and vault of 
the whole grotto were inside covered over with the finest 
green, as of tapestry, woven of silks and velvet, and round 
about the great entrance hung the thickest ivy, fresh and 
luxuriant as the vine foliage in the valleys of Calabria. 

Not many paces from the grotto stands, or rather stood, for 
there are now only a few remains of it left, a little, and wholly 
desolate house, built above one of the descents to the cata- 
combs. These were, as is well known, in ancient times, con- 
necting links between Rome and the surrounding cities j in 
later times, however, they have in part fallen in, and in part 
been built up, because they served as concealment for robbers 
and smugglers. The entrance through the burial-vaults in St. 
Sebastian’s Church, and this one through the desolate house, 
were then the only two in existence ; and I almost think that 
we were the last who descended by this, for, shortly after our 
adventure, it also was shut up ; and only the one through the 
church, under the conduct of a monk, remains now open to 
strangers. 

Deep below, hollowed out of the soft puzzolan earth, the 
one passage crosses another. Their multitude, their similarity 
one to another, are sufficient to bewilder even him who knows 
the principal direction. I had formed no idea of the whole, 
and the painter felt so confident, that he had no hesitation in 
taking me, the little boy, down with him. He lighted his can- 
dle, and took another with him in his pocket, fastened a ball 
of twine to the opening where we descended, and our wander- 
ing commenced. Anon the passages were so low that I could 
not go upright ; anon they elevated themselves to lofty vaults, 
and, where the one crossed the other, expanded themselves into 
great quadrangles. We passed through the Rotunda wdth the 
small stone altar in the middle, where the early Christians, 
persecuted by the Pagans, secretly performed their worship. 
Federigo told me of the fourteen popes, and the many thou- 
sand martyrs, who here lie buried : we held the light against 
ihe great cracks in the tombs, and saw the yellow bones 


lO 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


within.^ We advanced yet some steps onward, and then came 
to a stand, because we were at the end of the twine. The 
end of this Federigo fastened to his button-hole, stuck the 
candle among some stones, and then began to sketch the deep 
passage. I sat close beside him upon one of the stones ; he 
had desired me to fold my hands and to look upwards. The 
light was nearly burnt out, but a whole one lay hard by ; be- 
sides which he had brought a tinder-box, by the aid of which 
he could light the other in case this suddenly went out. 

My imagination fashioned to itself a thousand wonderful ob- 
jects in the infinite passages which opened themselves, and re- 
vealed to us an impenetrable darkness. All was quite still, 
the falling waterdrops alone sent forth a monotonous sound. 
As I thus sat, wrapped in my own thoughts, I was suddenly 
terrified by my friend the painter, who heaved a strange sigh, 
and sprang about, but always in the same spot. Every mo- 
ment he stooped down to the ground, as if he would snatch 
up something, then he lighted the larger candle and sought 
about. I became so terrified at his singular beha^vior, that I 
got up and began to cry. 

“ For God^s sake, sit still, child ! ’’ said he ; “ for God in 
heaven’s sake ! ” and again he began staring on the ground. 

“ I will go up again ! ” I exclaimed ; “ I will not stop 
down here ! ” I then took him by the hand and strove to 
draw him with me. 

Child ! child ! thou art a noble fellow ! ” said he ; ‘‘I will 
give thee pictures and cakes — there, thou hast money ! ” 
And he took his purse out of his pocket, and gave me all 
that was in it : but I felt that his hand was ice cold and that 
he trembled. On this I grew more uneasy, and called my 
mother : but now he seized me firmly by the shoulder, and, 
shaking me violently, said, — “I will beat thee if thou art not 
quiet ! ” Then he bound his pocket-handkerchief round my 

^ The monumental stones here are without any ornament ; on the con- 
trary, one finds in the catacombs at Naples the images of saints and in- 
scriptions, but all very indifferently done. On the graves of the Christians 
a fish is figured, in the Greek name of which occur the initial letters of 
{^\r}aovg Xptaroc, Oeov vloq au>T7ip) Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Re- 
deemer. — Author's Atote. 


THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. II 

arm, and held me fast, but bent himself down to me the next 
moment, kissed me vehemently, called me his dear little An- 
tonio, and whispered, Do thou also pray to the Madonna ! ” 
Is the string lost ? ” I asked. 

We will find it — we will find it ! ” he replied, and began 
searching again. In the mean time the lesser light was quite 
burnt out, and the larger one, from its continual agitation, 
melted and burnt his hand, which only increased his distress. 
It would have been quite impossible to have found our way 
back without the string j every step would only have led us 
deeper down where no one could save us. 

After vainly searching, he threw himself upon the ground, 
cast his arm around my neck, and sighed, Thou poor child ! ’’ 
I then wept bitterly, for it seemed to me that I never more 
should reach my home. He clasped me so closely to him as 
he lay on the ground that my hand slid under him. I invol- 
untarily grasped the sand, and found the string between my 
fingers. 

“ Here it is ! ’’ I exclaimed. 

He seized my hand, and became, as it were, frantic for joy, 
for our life actually hung upon the single thread. We were 
saved. 

O, how warmly beamed the sun, how blue was the heaven, 
how deliciously green the trees and bushes, as we came forth 
into the free air ! Poor Federigo kissed me yet again, drew 
his handsome silver watch out of his pocket, and said, “ This 
thou shalt have ! ” 

I was so heartily glad about this, that I quite forgot all that 
had happened ; but my mother could not forget it, when she 
had heard it, and would not again consent that Federigo 
should take me out with him. Fra Martino said also that 
it was only on my account that we were saved ; that it was to 
me to whom the Madonna had given the thread — to me, and 
not to the heretic Federigo ; that I was a good, pious child, 
and must never forget her kindness and mercy. This, and the 
jesting assertion of some of our acquaintance, that I was born 
to be of the priesthood, because, with the exception of my 
mother, I could not endure women, instilled into her the de- 
termination that I should become a servant of the Church. I 


12 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


do not myself know why, but I had an antipathy to all women, 
and, as I expressed this unhesitatingly, I was bantered by every 
girl and woman who came to my mother’s. They all would 
kiss me : in particular was there a peasant girl, Mariuccia, 
who by this jest always brought tears to my eyes. She was 
very lively and waggish, and maintained herself by serving as 
a model, and always appeared, therefore, in handsome, gay 
dresses, with a large white cloth upon her head. She often sat 
for Federigo, and visited my mother also, and then always told 
me that she was my bride, and that I was her little bride- 
groom, who must and should give her a kiss ; I never would 
do so, and then she took it by force. 

Once when she said that I cried childishly, and behaved 
myself exactly like a child that still sucked, and that I should 
be suckled like any other baby, I flew out, down the steps, but 
she pursued and caught me, held me between her knees, and 
pressed my head, which I turned away with disgust, ever 
closer and closer to her breast. I tore the silver arrow out of 
her hair, which fell down in rich abundance over me and over 
her naked shoulders. My mother stood on the hearth, 
laughed, and encouraged Mariuccia, whilst Federigo, unob- 
servedly, stood at the door, and painted the whole group. 

“ I will have no bride, no wife ! ” I exclaimed to my 
mother ; “ I will be a priest, or a Capuchin, like Fra Mar- 
tino ! ” 

The extraordinary meditations into which I was wrapt for 
whole evenings also were regarded by my mother as tokens 
of my spiritual calling. I sat and thought then what castles 
and churches I would build, if I should become great and rich ; 
how I then would drive like the cardinals in red carriages, 
with many gold-liveried servants behind ; or else I framed 
a new martyr-story out of the many which Fra Martino had 
related to me. I was, of course, the hero of these, and, 
through the help of the Madonna, never felt the pangs which 
were inflicted upon me. But, especially, had I a great desire 
to journey to Federigo ’s home, to convert the people there, 
that they also might know something of grace. 

Whether it was through the management of my mother or 
Fra Martino I know not, but it is enough that my mother, 


I BECOME A CHORISTER, . 1 3 

early one morning, arrayed me in a little kirtle, and drew over 
it an embroidered shirt, which only reached to the knees, and 
then led me to the glass that I might see myself. I was now a 
chorister in the Capuchin Church, must carry the great censer 
of incense, and sing with the others before the altar. Fra 
Martino instructed me in the whole duty. O, how happy all 
this made me ! I was soon quite at home in that little but 
comfortable church, knew every angel’s head in the altar-piece, 
every ornamental scroll upon the pillars ; could see even with 
my eyes shut the beautiful St. Michael fighting with the dragon,^ 
just as the painter had represented him, and thought many 
wonderful things about the death’s heads carved in the pave- 
ment, with the green ivy wreaths around the brow. 

On the festival of All Souls, I was down in the Chapel of 
the Dead, where Fra Martino had led me when I was with him 
for the first time in the convent. All the monks sang masses 
for the dead, and I, with two other boys of my own age, 
swung the incense-breathing censer before the great altar of 
skulls. They had placed lights in the chandeliers made of 
bones, new garlands were placed around the brows of the 
skeleton-monks, and fresh bouquets in their hands. Many peo- 
ple, as usual, thronged in ; they all knelt, and the singers in- 
toned the solemn Miserere, I gazed for a long time on the 
pale, yellow skulls, and the fumes of the incense which 
wavered in strange shapes between them and me, and every- 
thing began to spin round before my eyes ; it was as if I saw 
everything through a large rainbow ; as if a thousand prayer- 
bells rung in my ear ; it seemed as if I was borne along a 
stream ; it was unspeakably delicious — more, I know not ; 
consciousness left me — I was in a swoon. 

The atmosphere, made oppressive by crowds of people, and 
my excited imagination, occasioned this fainting-fit. When I 
came to myself again, I was lying in Fra Martino’s lap, under 
the orange-tree in the convent garden. 

The confused story which I told of what I seemed to have 
seen, he and all the brethren explained as a revelation : the 

1 The celebrated picture of St. Michael, the archangel, who, with the 
beauty of youth, and with great wings, sets his foot upon and pierces the 
head of the Devil. — Author’’ s Note, 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


14 

holy spirits had floated over me, but I had not been able to 
bear the sight of their glory and their majesty. This occa- 
sioned me before long to have many extraordinary dreams, and 
which, put together, I related to my mother, and she again com- 
municated to her friends, so that I became daily more and 
more to be regarded as a child of God. 

In the mean time, the happy Christmas approached. Pif- 
ferari, shepherds from the mountains, came in their short 
cloaks, with ribbons around their pointed hats, and announced 
with the bagpipe, before every house where there stood an 
image of the Virgin, that the time was at hand in which the 
Saviour was born. I was awoke every morning by these mo- 
notonous, melancholy tones, and my first occupation then was 
to read over my lesson, for I was one of the children selected, 
“ boys and girls,” who, between Christmas and New-year, were 
to preach in the church Ara Cceli, before the image of Jesus. 

It was not I alone, my mother, and Mariuccia, who rejoiced 
that I, the boy of nine, should make a speech, but also the 
painter Federigo, before whom I, without their knowledge, 
had had a rehearsal, standing upon a table ; it would be upon 
such a one, only that a carpet would be laid over it, that we 
children should be placed in the church, where we, before the 
assembled multitudes, must repeat the speech, which we had 
learned by rote, about the bleeding heart of the Madonna, 
and the beauty of the child Jesus. 

I knew nothing of fear; it was only with joy that my heart 
beat so violently as I stepped forward, and saw all eyes di- 
rected to me. That I, of all the children, gave most delight, 
seemed decided ; but now there was lifted up a little girl, who 
was of so exquisitely delicate a form, and who had, at the 
same time, so wonderfully bright a countenance, and such a 
melodious voice, that all exclaimed aloud that she was a little 
angelic child. Even my mother, who would gladly have 
awarded to me the palm, declared aloud that she was just like 
one of the angels in the great altar-piece. The wonderfully 
dark eyes, the raven-black hair, the childlike, and yet so wise 
expression of countenance, the exquisitely small hands, — nay, 
it seemed to me that my mother said too much of all these, 
although she added that I also was an angel of God. 


/ BECOME A CHORISTER. 


15 

There is a song about the nightingale, which, when it was 
quite young, sat in the nest and picked the green leaves of 
the rose, without being aware of the buds which were just be- 
ginning to form ; months afterwards, the rose unfolded itself, 
the nightingale sang only of it, flew among the thorns, and 
wounded itself. The song often occurred to me when I be- 
came older, but in the church Ara Coeli I knew it not j neither 
my ears nor my heart knew it ! 

At home, I had to repeat before my mother, Mariuccia, and 
many friends, the speech which I had made, and this flattered 
my vanity not a little ; but they lost, in the mean time, their 
interest in hearing it earlier than I mine in repeating it. In 
order now to keep my public in good humor, I undertook, out 
of my own head, to make a new speech. But this was rather 
a description of the festival in the church than a regular 
Christmas speech. Federigo was the first who heard it ; and, 
although he laughed, it flattered me still, when he said that 
my speech was in every way as good as that which Fra Mar- 
tino had taught me, and that a poet lay hidden in me. This 
last remark gave me much to think about, because I could not 
understand it; yet thought I to myself, it must be a good 
angel, perhaps the same which shows to me the charming 
dreams, and so many beautiful things when I sleep. For the 
first time during the summer, chance gave me a clear notion 
of a poet, and awoke new ideas in my own soul-world. 

It but very rarely happened that my mother left the quarter 
of the city in which we lived ; therefore it seemed to me like 
a festival when she said to me, one afternoon, that we would 
go and pay a visit to a friend of hers in Trastevere.^ I was 
dressed in my holiday suit, and the gay piece of silk which I 
usually wore instead of a waistcoat was fastened with pins 
over the breast, and under my little jacket ; my neckerchief 
was tied in a great bow, and an embroidered cap was on my 
head. I was particularly elegant. 

When, after the visit, we returned home, it was somewhat 
late, but the moon shone gloriously, the air was fresh and blue, 
and the cypresses and pines stood with wonderfully sharp out- 

1 That part of Rome which lies on the higher banks of the Tiber. — 
Author's Note, 


i6 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


lines upon the neighboring heights. It was one of those even^ 
ings which occur but once in a person’s life, which, without 
signalizing itself by any great life-adventure, yet stamps itself 
in its whole coloring upon the Psyche-wings. Since that mo- 
ment, whenever my mind goes back to the Tiber, I see it ever 
before me as upon this evening : the thick yellow water lit 
up by the moonbeams ; the black stone pillars of the old ruin- 
ous bridge, which, with strong shadow, lifted itself out of the 
stream where the great mill-wheel rushed round ; nay, even the 
merry girls who skipped past with the tambourine and danced 
the saltarello.^ 

In the streets around Santa Maria della Rotunda, all was 
yet life and motion ; butchers and fruit-women sat before 
their tables, on which lay their wares among garlands of laurel, 
and with lights burning in the open air. The fire flickered 
under the chestnut-pans, and the conversation was carried on 
with so much screaming and noise, that a stranger who did 
not understand a word might have imagined it to be some con- 
tention of life and. death. An old friend whom my mother 
met in the fish-market kept us talking so long, that people 
were beginning to put out their lights before we set off again, 
and as my mother accompanied her friend to her door it had 
now become as silent as death in the street, even in the Corso ; 
but when we came into the square di Trevi, where there is the 
beautiful cascade, it seemed on the contrary quite cheerful 
again. ^ 

The moonlight fell exactly upon the old palace, where the 
water streams out between the masses of foundation-rock 
which seem loosely thrown together. Neptune’s heavy stone- 

1 A popular Roman dance to a most monotonous tune. It is danced by 
one or two persons, yet without these coming in contact with each other ; 
most frequently by two men, or two women, who with a quick, hopping 
step, and with increasing rapidity, move themselves in a half-circle. The 
arms are as violently agitated as the legs, and change their position inces- 
santly, with all that natural grace peculiar to the Roman people. Women 
are accustomed in this dance to lift up their petticoats a little, or else to 
beat time themselves upon the tambourine : this, otherwise, is done by 
a third person on the monotonous drum, — the changes in the time alone 
consisting in the greater or less rapidity with which the strokes follow one 
another. — Author's Note* 


THE IMPROVISATORE. I7 

mantle floated in the wind, as he looked out above the great 
waterfall, on each side of which blooming Tritons guided sea- 
horses. Beneath these the great basin spread itself out, and 
upon the turf around it rested a crowd of peasants, stretching 
themselves in the moonlight. Large, quartered melons, from 
which streamed the red juice, lay around them. A little 
square-built fellow, whose whole dress consisted of a shirt, 
and short leather breeches, which hung loose and unbuttoned 
at the knees, sat with a guitar, and twanged the strings mer- 
rily. Now he sang a song, now he played, and all the peas- 
ants clapped their hands. My mother remained standing ; 
and I now listened to a song which seized upon me quite in 
an extraordinary way, for it was not a song like any other 
which I had heard. No ! he sang to us of what we saw and 
heard, we were ourselves in the song, and that in verse, and 
with melody. He sang, How gloriously one can sleep with 
a stone under the head, and the blue heaven for a coverlet, 
whilst the two Pifferari blow their bagpipes ; ” and with that 
he pointed to the Tritons who were blowing their horns j 
“how the whole company of peasants who have shed the 
blood of the melon will drink a health to their sweethearts, 
who now are asleep, but see in dreams the dome of St. 
Peter’s, and their beloved, who go wandering about in the 
Papal city. Yes, we will drink, and that to the health of all 
girls whose arrow has not yet expanded.^ Yes,” added he, 
giving my mother a little push in the side, “ and to mothers 
who have for their sweethearts lads on whose chins the black 
down has not yet grown ! ” 

“ Bravo ! ” said my mother, and all the peasants clapped 
their hands and shouted, “ Bravo, Giacomo ! bravo ! ” 

Upon the steps of the little church we discovered, in the 
mean time, an acquaintance — our Federigo, who stood with a 
pencil and sketched the whole merry moonlight piece. As we 
went home he and my mother joked about the brisk Impro- 
visatore, for so I heard them call the peasant who sung so 
charmingly. 

1 The arrow which the peasant women wear in their hair has a ball at 
the end if they are free ; but, if betrothed or married, has an expanded 
head. — Author's Note. 


2 


i8 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


“Antonio,” said Federigo to me, “thou, also, should’st im- 
provise ; thou art truly, also, a little poet ! Thou must learn 
to put thy pieces into verse.” 

I now understood what a poet was j namely, one who could 
sing beautifully that which he saw and felt. That must, in- 
deed, be charming, thought I, and easy, if I had but a guitar. 

The first subject of my song was neither more nor less than 
the shop of the bacon-dealer over the way. Long ago, my 
fancy had already busied itself with the curious collection of 
his wares, which attracted in particular the eyes of strangers. 
Amid beautiful garlands of laurel hung the white buffalo- 
cheeses, like great ostrich eggs ; candles, wrapped round with 
gold paper, represented an organ ! and sausages, which were 
reared up like columns, sustained a Parmesan cheese, shining 
like yellow amber. When in an evening the whole was lighted 
up, and the red glass-lamps burned before the image of the 
Madonna in the wall among sausages and ham, it seemed to me 
as if I looked into an entirely magical world. The cat upon 
the shop-table, and the young Capuchins, who always stood so 
long cheapening their purchases with the signora, came also 
into the poem, which I pondered upon so long that I could 
repeat it aloud and perfectly to Federigo, and which, having 
won his applause, quickly spread itself over the whole house, 
nay, even to the wife of the bacon-dealer herself, who laughed 
and clapped her hands, and called it a wonderful poem, — a 
Divina Commedia di Dante ! 

From this time forth everything was sung. I lived entirely 
in fancies and dreams, — in the church when I swung the cen- 
ser, in the streets amid the rolling carriages and screaming 
traders, as well as in my little bed beneath the image of the 
Virgin and the holy-water vessel. In the winter time, I could 
sit for whole hours before our house, and look into the great 
fire in the street, where the smith heated his iron, and the peas- 
ants warmed themselves. I saw in the red fire a world glow- 
ing as my own imagination. I shouted for joy, when in win- 
ter the snow of the mountains sent down to us such severe 
cold, that icicles hung from the Triton in the square ; pity 
that it was so seldom. Then, also, were the peasants glad, for 
it was to them a sign of a fertile year ; they took hold of each 


THE IMFRO VISA TORE, 


^9 

other’s hands, and danced in their great woolen cloaks round 
about the Triton, whilst a rainbow played in the high-spring- 
ing water. 

But I loiter • too long over the simple recollections of my 
childhood, which cannot have for a stranger the deep mean- 
ing, the extraordinary attraction, which they have for me. 
Whilst I recall, whilst I hold fast every single occurrence, it 
seems as if I again lived in the whole. 

“ My childhood’s heart was to my dreams a sea 
Of music, whereon floated picture-boats ! ” 

I will now hasten on to the circumstance which placed the 
first hedge of thorns between me and the paradise of home — 
which led me among strangers, and which contained the germ 
of my whole future. 


CHAPTER HI. 


THE FLOWER-FEAST AT GENZANO.^ 

I T was in the month of June, and the day of the famous 
flower-feast which was annually celebrated at Genzano 
approached. My mother and Mariuccia had a mutual friend 
there, who, with her husband, kept a public-house.^ They had 
for many years determined to go to this festival, but there was 
always something or other to prevent it ; this time there was 
nothing. We were to set off the day before the flower-feast, 
because it was a long way ; I could not sleep for joy through 
the whole night preceding. 

Before the sun had risen, the vetturino drove up to the door, 
and we rolled away. Never before had I been among the 
mountains. Expectation, and joy of the approaching festival, 
set my whole soul in motion. If in my maturer years I could 
have seen nature and life around me with the same vivid feel- 
ing as then, and could have expressed it in words, it would 
have been an immortal poem. The great stillness of the 
streets, the iron-studded city-gate, the Campagna stretching out 
for miles, with the lonely monuments, the thick mist which 
covered the feet of the distant mountains, — all these 
seemed to me mysterious preparations for the magnificence 
which I should behold. Even the wooden cross erected by 
the wayside, upon which hung the whitened bones of the 
murderer, which told us that here an innocent person had 
perished, and the perpetrator of his death had been punished, 
had for me an uncommon charm. First of all, I attempted to 
count the innumerably many stone arches which conduct the 

1 A little city in the mountains of Albano, which lies upon the high-road 
between Rome and the Marshes. — Note by the Author. 

2 “ Osteria e cucma^^' the customary sign for the lower order of hotels 
and public-houses in Italy. — Ibid. 


THE FLOWER-FEAST AT GENZANO. 


21 


water from the mountains to Rome, but of this I was soon 
weary ; so I then began to torment the others with a thousand 
questions about the great fires which the peasants had made 
around the piled-up grave-stones, and would have an exact 
explanation of the vast flocks of sheep, which the wandering 
drivers kept together in pne place by stretching a fishing-net, 
like a fence, around the whole herd. 

From Albano we were to go on foot for the short and beau- 
tiful remainder of the way through Arriccia. Resida and 
golden cistus grew wild by the roadside ; the thick, juicy olive- 
trees cast a delicious shade ; I caught a glimpse of the dis- 
tant sea, and upon the mountain slopes by the wayside, where 
a cross stood, merry girls skipped dancing past us, but yet 
never forgetting piously to kiss the holy cross. The lofty 
dome of the church of Arriccia I imagined to be that of St. 
Peter, which the angels had hung up in the blue air among 
the dark olive-trees. In the street, the people had collected 
around a bear which danced upon his hind-legs, while the 
peasant who held the rope blew upon his bagpipe the self- 
same air which he had played Christmas, as Pifferaro, before 
the Madonna. A handsome ape in a military uniform, and 
which he called the corporal, made somersaults upon the beaFs 
head and neck. I was quite willing to stop there instead of 
going on to Genzano. The flower-festival was really not till 
to-morrow, but my mother was resolute that we should go and 
help her friend, Angeline, to make garlands and flower-tapes- 
try. 

We soon went the short remainder of the way and arrived 
at Angeline^s house ; it stood in that part of the neighborhood 
of Genzano which looks on Lake Nemi ; it was a pretty 
house, and out of the wall flowed a fresh fountain into a stone 
basin, where the asses thronged to drink. 

We entered the hostel ; there was a noise and a stir. The 
dinner was boiling and frizzling on the hearth. A crowd of 
peasants and town-folk sat at the long wooden tables drinking 
their wine and eating their presciutto. The most beautiful 
roses were stuck in a blue jug before the image of the Ma- 
donna, where the lamp would not burn well, because the 
smoke drew towards it. The cat ran over the cheese which 


22 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


lay upon the table, and we were near stumbling over the 
hens, which, terrified, hopped along the floor. Angeline was 
delighted to see us, and we were sent up the steep stairs 
near the chimney, where we had a little room to ourselves, and 
a kingly banquet, according to my notions. Everything was 
magnificent ; even the bottle of wine was ornamented ; in- 
stead of a cork, a full-blown rose was stuck in it. Angeline 
kissed us all three ; I also received a kiss whether I would or 
not. Angeline said I was a pretty boy, and my mother patted 
me on the cheek with one hand, whilst with the other she 
put my things to rights j and now she pulled my jacket, which 
was too little for me, down to my hands, then again up to my 
shoulders and breast, just as it ought to have been. 

After dinner, a perfect feast awaited us ; we were to go out 
to gather flowers and leaves for garlands. We went through 
a low door out into the garden ; this was only a few ells in 
circumference, and was, so to say, one single bower. The 
light railing which inclosed it was strengthened with the 
broad, firm leaves of the aloe, which grew wild here, and 
formed a natural fence. 

The lake slept calmly in the great, round crater, from which 
at one time fire spouted up to heaven. We went down the 
amphitheatre-like, rocky slope, through the great beech and 
the thick plantain wood, where the vines wreathed themselves 
among the tree-branches. On the opposite descent before us 
lay the city of Nemi, and mirrored itself in the blue lake. As 
we went along, we bound garlands ; the dark green olive and 
fresh vine-leaves we entwined with the wild golden cistus. 
Now the deep-lying, blue lake, and the bright heavens above 
us, were hidden by the thick green and the vine-leaves ; now 
they gleamed forth again as if they both were only one single, 
infinite blue. Everything was to me new and glorious ; my 
soul trembled for quiet joy. There are, even yet, moments in 
which the remembrance of these feelings come forth again like 
the beautiful mosaic fragment of a buried city. 

The sun burned hotly, and it was not until we were by the 
lake side, where the plantains shoot forth their ancient trunks 
from the water, and bend down their branches, heavy with 
enwreathing vines, to the watery mirror, that we found it cool 


THE FLO WEE-FEAST AT GENZANO. 


23 

enough to continue our work. Beautiful water-plants nodded 
here as if they dreamed under the deep shadow, and they, too, 
made a part of our garlands. Presently, however, the sun- 
beams no longer reached the lake, but played upon the roofs 
of Nemi and Genzano j and now the gloom descended to 
where we sat. I went a little distance from the others, yet 
only a few paces, for my mother was afraid that I should fall 
into the lake where it was deep and the banks were sudden. 
Not far from the small stone ruins of an old temple of Diana 
there lay a huge fig-tree which the ivy had already begun to 
bind fast to the earth ; I had climbed upon this, and was weav- 
ing a garland whilst I sang from a canzonet, — 

Ah ! rossi, rossi fiori, 

Un mazzo di violi ! 

Un gelsomin d’amore,” — 

when I was suddenly interrupted by a strangely whistling 
voice, — 

Per dar al mio bene ! ” 

and as suddenly there stood before me a tall, aged woman, of 
an unusually slender frame, and in the costume which the peas- 
ant women of Frascati are so fond of wearing. The long 
white veil which hung down from her head over her shoulders 
contributed to give the countenance and neck a more Mu- 
latto tint than they probably had naturally. Wrinkle crossed 
wrinkle, whereby her face resembled a crumpled-up net. The 
black pupil of the eye seemed to fill up the whole eye. She 
laughed, and looked at the same time both seriously and 
fixedly at me, as if she were a mummy which some one had 
set up under the trees. 

“ Rosemary flowers,’’ she said, at length, become more 
beautiful in thy hands ; thou hast a lucky star in thy eyes.” 

I looked at her with astonishment, and pressed the garland 
which I was weaving to my lips. 

“ There is poison in the beautiful laurel-leaves ; ^ bind thy 
garland, but do not taste of the leaves.” 

1 Prunus lattrocerasusy which grows abundantly among these moun- 
tains. — Author's Note, 


24 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


‘‘Ah, the wise Fulvia of Frascati ! exclaimed Angeline, 
stepping from among the bushes. “ Art thou also making gar- 
lands for to-morrow’s festival ? or,” continued she, in a more 
subdued voice, “art thou binding another kind of nosegay 
while the sun goes down on the Campagna ? ” 

“ An intelligent eye,” continued Fulvia, gazing at me with- 
out intermission ; “ the sun went through the bull he had 
nourished, and there hung gold and honor on the bull’s 
horns.” 

“Yes,” said my mother, who had come up with Mariuccia, 
“ when he gets on the black coat and the broad hat we shall 
then see whether he must swing the censer or go through a 
thorn-hedge.” 

That she intended by this to indicate my being of the cler- 
ical order, the sibyl seemed to comprehend ; but there was 
quite another meaning in her reply than we at that time might 
imagine. 

“ The broad hat,” said she, “ will not shadow his brow 
when he stands before the people, — when his speeches sound 
like music, sweeter than the song of nuns behind the grating, 
and more powerful than thunder in the mountains of Albano. 
The seat of Fortune is higher than Monte Cave, where the 
clouds repose upon the mountains among the flocks of sheep.” 

0 God ! ” sighed my mother, shaking her head somewhat 
incredulously, although she listened gladly to the brilliant 
prophecy, “ he is a poor child — Madonna only knows what 
will become of him ! The chariot of Fortune is loftier than 
the car of a peasant of Albano, and the wheel is always turn- 
ing : how can a poor child mount it ? ” 

“ Hast thou seen how the two great wheels of the peasant’s 
car turn round ? The lowest spoke becomes the highest, and 
then goes down again ; when it is down, the peasant sets his 
foot upon it, and the wheel which goes round lifts him up : 
but sometimes there lies a stone in the path, and then it will 
go like a dance in the market-place.” ^ 

“And may not I, too, mount with him into the chariot of 
Fortune ? ” asked my mother, half in jest, but uttered at the 

1 The peasants mount into their tall cars by standing upon the spoke of 
the ascending wheel. — Authors Note. 


THE FLO WEE-FEAST AT GENZANO, 25 

same moment a loud cry, for a large eagle flew so near us 
down into the lake that the water at the same moment 
splashed into our faces from the force with which he struck it 
with his great wings. High up in the air his keen glance had 
discovered a large fish, which lay immovable as a reed upon 
the surface of the lake ; with the swiftness of an arrow he 
seized upon his prey, stuck his sharp talons into the back 
of it, and was about to raise himself again, when the fish, 
which, by the agitation of the waters, we could see was of 
great size and almost of equal power to his enemy, sought, 
on the contrary, to drag him below with him. The talons of 
the bird were so firmly fixed into the back of the fish, that he 
could not release himself from his prey, and there now, there- 
fore, began between the two such a contest that the quiet lake 
trembled in wide circles. Now appeared the glittering back 
of the fish, now the bird struck the water with his broad wings, 
and seemed to yield. The combat lasted for some minutes. 
The two wings lay for a moment still, outspread upon the 
water, as if they rested themselves ; then they were rapidly 
struck together, a crack was heard, the one wing sank down, 
whilst the other lashed the water to foam, and then vanished. 
The fish sunk beneath the waves with his enemy, where a mo- 
ment afterwards they must both die. 

We had all gazed on this scene in silence ] when my mother 
turned herself round to the others, the sibyl had vanished. 
This, in connection with the little occurrence, which, as will be 
seen, many years afterwards had an. influence on my fate, and 
which was deeply stamped upon my memory, made us all some- 
what silently hasten home. Darkness seemed to come forth 
from the thickset leaves of the trees, the fire-red evening clouds 
reflected themselves in the mirror of the lake, the mill-wheel 
rushed round with a monotonous sound ; all seemed to have 
in it something demoniacal. As we went along, Angeline re- 
lated to us in a whisper strange things which had been told to 
her of the old woman, who understood how to mix poisons 
and love-potions ; and then she told us about poor Therese 
of Olevano — how she wasted away day by day from anxiety 
and longing after the slender Guiseppe, who had gone away 
beyond the mountains to the north ; how the old woman had 


26 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


boiled herbs in a copper vessel, and let them simmer over the 
hot coals for several days, until Guiseppe also was seized upon 
by a longing, and was obliged to speed back again, day and 
night, without rest or stay, to where the vessel was boiling 
holy herbs and a lock of his and Therese’s hair. I said an Ave 
Maria softly, and did not feel easy until I was again in the 
house with Angeline. 

The four wicks in the brass lamp were lighted, one of our 
garlands hung around it, and a supper of mongana al pomi- 
doro ^ was set out for us, together with a bottle full of wine. 
The peasants in the room below us drank and improvised ; it 
was a sort of duet between two of them, and the whole com- 
pany joined in the chorus, but when I went with the other 
children to sing before the image of the Virgin, which hung 
beside the great chimney where the fire burned, they all list- 
ened and praised my beautiful voice, which made me forget 
the dark wood and the old Fulvia who had told my fortune. 
I would gladly now have begun to improvise in emulation of 
the peasants, but my mother damped my vanity and my wish 
by the inquiry whether I thought it becoming for me, who 
swung the censer in the church, and, perhaps, some day 
should have to explain the word of God to the people, to 
set myself up there like a fool ; that it was not now carnival 
time, and that she would not allow it. But when in the even- 
ing we were in our sleeping-room, and I had climbed up into 
the broad bed, she pressed me tenderly to her heart, called me 
her comfort and her joy, and let me lay my head upon her 
arm, where I dreamed till the sun shone in at my window, 
and awokh me to the beautiful feast of fiowers. 

How shall I describe the first glance into the street — that 
bright picture as I then saw it. The entire, long, gently as- 
cending street was covered over with flowers ; the ground 
color was blue : it looked as if they had robbed all the gar- 
dens, all the fields, to collect flowers enough of the same 
color to cover the street ; over these lay in long stripes, green, 
composed of leaves, alternately with rose-color ; at some dis- 
tance from this was a similar stripe, and between this a layer 
of dark red flowers, so as to form, as it were, a broad 
1 Veal and tomatoes. 


THE FLOWER-FEAST AT GENZANO, 27 

border to the whole carpet. The middle of this represented 
stars and suns, which were formed by a close mass of yellow, 
round, and star-like flowers \ more labor still had been spent 
upon the formation of names — here flower was laid upon 
flower, leaf upon leaf The whole was a living flower-carpet, 
a mosaic floor, richer in pomp of coloring than anything which 
Pompeii can show. Not a breath of air stirred ; the flowers 
lay immovable, as if they were heavy, firmly set precious 
stones. From all windows were hung upon the walls large 
carpets, worked in leaves and flowers, representing holy pic- 
tures. Here Joseph led the ass on which sat the Madonna 
and the child ; roses formed the faces, the feet, and the arms ; 
gillyflowers and anemones their fluttering garments ; and 
crowns were made of white water-lilies, brought from Lake 
Nemi. Saint Michael fought with the dragon ; the holy 
Rosalia showered down roses upon the dark blue globe ; 
wherever my eye fell, flowers related to me biblical legends, 
and the people all round about were as joyful as myself. 
Rich foreigners, from beyond the mountains, clad in festal 
garments, stood in the balconies, and by the side of the houses 
moved along a vast crowd of people, all in full holiday cos- 
tume, each according to the fashion of his country. Beside 
the stone basin which surrounds the great fountain, where the 
street spreads itself out, my mother had taken her place, and 
I stood just before the satyr’s head which looks out from the 
water. 

The sun burnt hotly, all the bells rung, and the procession 
moved along the beautiful flower-carpet ; the most charming 
music and singing announced its approach. Choristers swung 
the censer before the Host ; the most beautiful girls of the 
country followed, with garlands of flowers in their hands ; and 
poor children, with wings to their naked shoulders, sang 
hymns, as of angels whilst awaiting the arrival of the proces- 
sion at the high altar. Young fellows wore fluttering ribbons 
around their pointed hats, upon which a picture of the Madonna 
was fastened ; silver and gold rings hung to a chain around 
their necks ; and handsome, bright- colored scarfs looked splen- 
didly upon their black velvet jackets. The girls of Albano 
and Frascati came, with their thin veils elegantly thrown over 


28 


THE IMPROVJSATORE, 


their black, plaited hair, in which was stuck the sil /er arrow ; 
those from Villetri, on the contrary, wore garlands around their 
hair, and the smart neckerchief, fastened so low down in the 
dress as to leave visible the beautiful shoulder and the round 
bosom. From Abruzzi, from the Marshes, from every other 
neighboring district, came all in their peculiar national cos- 
tume, and produced altogether the most brilliant effect. Car- 
dinals, in their mantles woven with silver, advanced under 
canopies adorned with flowers ; monks of various orders fol- 
lowed, all bearing burning tapers. When the procession came 
out of the church an immense crowd followed. We were 
carried along with it ; my mother held me firmly by the 
shoulder, that I might not be separated from her. Thus I 
went on, shut in by the crowd ; I could see nothing but the 
blue sky above my head. All at once there was sent forth a 
piercing cry — it rang forth on all sides ; a pair of unmanage- 
able horses rushed through — more I did not perceive : I was 
thrown to the earth, it was all black before my eyes, and it 
seemed to me as if a waterfall dashed over me. 

0 ! Mother of God, what a grief ! a thrill of horror passes 
through me whenever I think of it. When I again returned 
to consciousness, I lay with my head in Mariuccia’s lap ; she 
sobbed and cried : beside us lay my mother stretched out, and 
there stood around a little circle of strange people. The 
wild horses had gone over us, the wheel had gone over my 
mother’s breast, blood gushed out of her mouth — she was 
dead. 

1 looked at the heavy, closed eyes, and folded the lifeless 
hands which lately had so lovingly protected me. The monks 
carried her into the convent, and as I was altogether without 
injury, excepting that the skin was a little broken, Mariuccia 
took me back again to the hostel where I had been yesterday 
so joyful, had bound garlands, and slept in my mother’s arms. 
I was most deeply distressed, although I did not apprehend 
how entirely forlorn I was. They gave me playthings, fruit, 
and cakes, and promised me that on the morrow I should see 
my mother again, who, they said, was to-day with the Ma- 
donna, with whom there was a perpetual flower-feast and re- 
joicing. But other things which Mariuccia said also did not 


THE FLOWER-FEAST AT GENZANO. 29 

escape my attention. I heard her whisper about the hateful 
eagle yesterday, about Fulvia, and about a dream which my 
mother had had : now she was dead, every one had foreseen 
misfortune. 

The runaway horses had, in the mean time gone right 
through the city, and, striking against a tree, had been stopped, 
and a gentleman of condition, upwards of forty years of age, 
half dead with terror, had then been helped from the car- 
riage. He was, it was said, of the Borghesa family, and lived 
in a villa between Albano and Frascati, and was known for 
his singular passion for collecting all kinds of plants and 
flowers ; nay, in the dark sciences it was believed that he was 
as knowing as even the wise Fulvia. A servant in rich livery 
brought a purse containing twenty scudi from him for the 
motherless child. 

The next evening, before the ringing of the Ave Maria, I 
was conducted into the convent to see my mother for the last 
time j she lay in the narrow wooden coffin, in her holiday ap- 
parel, as yesterday at the flower-feast. I kissed her folded 
hands, and the women wept with me. 

There stood already at the door the corpse-bearers and the 
attendants, wrapped in their white cloaks, with the hoods 
drawn over their faces. They lifted the bier on their shoul- 
ders, the Capuchins, lighted their tapers, and began the song 
for the dead. Mariuccia w^ent with me close behind the 
corpse, the red evening heaven shone upon my mother’s face ; 
she looked as if she lived. The other children of the city 
ran gayly around me, and collected in little paper bags the 
drops of wax which fell from the monks’ tapers. 

We went through the streets where yesterday had passed 
the festival-procession, — it lay scattered over with leaves and 
flowers ; but the pictures, the beautiful figures, were all van- 
ished like the happiness of my childhood, the bliss of my past 
days. I saw when we reached the church-yard how the great 
stone was lifted aside which covered the vault into which the 
corpses were lowered. I saw the coffin descend, and heard 
the dull sound as it was set down upon the others. Then all 
withdrew except Mariuccia, who let me kneel upon the grave- 
stone, and repeat an “ Ora pro nobis / ” 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


30 

In the moonlight night we journeyed back from Genzano ; 
Federigo and two strangers were with us. Black clouds hung 
upon the mountains of Albano. I saw the light mists which 
flew in the moonlight across the Campagna. The others 
spoke but very little, and I soon slept, and dreamed of the 
Madonna, of the flowers, and my mother, who lived, smiled, 
and talked to me. 


CHAPTER IV. 


UNCLE PEPPO. — THE NIGHT IN THE COLISEUM. — THE 
, ADVICE. 

HAT should really now be done with me ? that was 



V V the question which was asked when we came back to 
Rome, and into my mother’s house. Fra Martino advised 
that I should go to the Campagna to Mariuccia’s parents, who 
kept flocks, and were honest people, to whom the twenty 
scudi would be wealth, and who would not hesitate to take 
me home to them, and to treat me as their own child ; but, 
then, I was in part a member of the Church, and if I went 
out to the Campagna, I should no longer swing the censer in 
the Church of the Capuchins. Federigo also thought it bet- 
ter that I should remain in Rome with some decent people ; 
he should not like, he said, that I should be only a rough, sim- 
ple peasant. 

Whilst Fra Martino counseled with himself in the convent, 
my uncle Peppo came stumping upon his wooden clogs. He 
had heard of my mother’s death, and that twenty scudi had 
fallen to me, and for this reason he also now came to give his 
opinion. He declared, that as he was the only relative I had in 
the world, he should take me to himself ; that I was to follow 
him, and that everything which the house contained was his, 
as well as the twenty scudi. Mariuccia maintained with great 
zeal that she and Fra Martino had already arranged every- 
thing for the best ; and gave him to understand that he, a crip- 
ple and a beggar, had enough to do with himself, and could 
not have any voice in the matter. 

Federigo left the room, and the two who remained re- 
proached each other mutually with the selfish ground of their 
regard for me. Uncle Peppo spit forth all his venom, and 
Mariuccia stood like a Fury before him. She would, she said. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


32 

have nothing to do with him, nor with the boy ; she would 
have nothing to do with anything. She said he might take 
me and get me a pair of wooden crutches made, and so like a 
cripple I could help to fill his bag I He might take me with 
him, but the money she would keep till Fra Martino came 
back j not a single stiver of it should his false eyes behold ! 
Peppo threatened to knock a hole in her head, as big as the 
Piazzo del Popolo, with his wooden hand-clogs. I stood 
weeping near to them. Mariuccia pushed me from her, and 
Peppo drew me to him. I must follow him, he said, must at- 
tach myself to him ; but if he bore the burden he also would 
have the reward. The Roman senate knew well enough how 
to do right to an honest man ; and then he drew me against 
my will out of the house door, where a ragged lad held his 
ass : for on great occasions, and when haste was required, he 
cast aside his board, and held himself fast on the ass with his 
withered legs ; he and it were* so to say, one body. Me he 
set before him upon the beast j the lad gave it a blow, and so 
we trotted off, whilst he caressed me in his own way. 

‘‘ Dost thou see, my child 1 ’’ he said, “ is it not an excellent 
ass ? and fly can he, fly like a racer through the Corso ! Thou 
wilt be well off with me, like an angel of heaven, my fine fel- 
low ! ” And then followed a thousand curses and maledictions 
against Mariuccia. 

Where hast thou stolen that pretty child ? ’’ inquired his 
acquaintance as we rode onward, and so my history was told 
and told again almost at every corner. The woman who sold 
citron-peel water reached to us a whole glass for our long 
story, and gave me a pine-apple to take with me, the inside of 
which was all gone. Before we got under his roof the sun 
had gone down. I said not one word, but pressed my hands 
before my face, and cried. In the little room which adjoined 
the larger room, he showed me in a corner a bed of maize- 
leaves, or rather the dried husks of the maize ; here I was to 
sleep. Hungry I could not be, he said, nor thirsty either, for 
we had drunk the excellent glass of citron-water. He patted 
me on the cheek with that same hateful smile of which I al- 
ways felt such horror. He then asked me how many silver 
pieces there were in the purse, whether Mariuccia had paid 


UNCLE PEPPO. 


33 

the vetturino out of it, and what the strange servant had said 
when he brought the money. I would give him no explana- 
tion, and asked with tears whether I was always to remain 
here, and whether I could not go home to-morrow. 

^‘Yes, surely! yes, surely!” said he; ‘‘sleep now, but do 
not forget thy Ave Maria ; when people sleep the devil wakes ; 
make the sign of the cross over thee : it is an iron wall which 
a raging lion cannot break through ! Pray piously ; and pray 
that the Madonna will punish with poison and corruption the 
false Mariuccia, who would overreach thy innocence, and cheat 
thee and me of all thy property. Now go to sleep : the little 
hole above can stand open j the fresh air is half a supper. 
Don’t be afraid of the bats — they fly past, the poor things ! 
Sleep well, my Jesus-child!” And with this he bolted the 
door. 

For a long time he busied himself in the other room ; then 
1 heard other voices, and the light of a lamp came in through 
a chink in the wall. I raised myself up, but quite softly, for 
the dry maize-leaves rustled loudly, and I was afraid that he 
would hear them and come in again. I now saw through the 
chink that two wicks were lighted in the lamp, bread and 
radishes were set on the table, and a flask of wine went round 
the company. All were beggars, all cripples ; I knew them 
all well, although there was quite another expression on their 
countenances than I was accustomed to see there. The fever- 
sick, half-dead Lorenzo, sat there merry and noisy, and talked 
without intermission ; and by day I had always seen him lying 
stretched out on the grass on Monte Pincio,^ where he sup- 
ported his bound-up head against a tree-stem, and moved his 
lips as if half-dying, whilst his wife pointed out the fever-sick, 
suffering man, to the passers-by. Francia, with his fingerless 
hands, drummed with the stumps upon the shoulders of the 
blind Cathrina, and sang half aloud “ Cavalier Torchinol^ 
Two or three others sat near the door, but so much in the 

1 This is the public promenade which extends from the Spanish Steps 
to the French Academy, and down to Porta del Popolo, looking over the 
greatest part of Rome and the sea, with the Villa Borghese. — Authot^s 
Note, 


34 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


shadow, that I did not know them. My heart beat violently 
with fear. I heard that they talked about me. 

‘^Can the boy do anything.?’^ asked one. “Has he any 
sort of a hurt ? ’’ 

“ No ; the Madonna has not been so kind to him,’’ said 
Peppo ; “ he is slender and well formed, like a nobleman’s 
child.” 

“That is a great misfortune,” said they all. . The blind 
Cathrina added that I could have some little hurt, which 
would help me to get my earthly bread until the Madonna 
gave me the heavenly. 

“Ay,” said Peppo, “if my niece had been wise the lad 
might have made his fortune ! He has a voice, O, like the 
dear angels of heaven ! he was meant for the Pope’s chapel ! 
he ought to have been a singer ! ” 

They talked of my age, and of what could yet be done, and 
how my fortune must be made. I did not understand what 
they would do with me, but thus much, I saw clearly that it 
was something bad they meant, and I trembled for fear. But 
how should I get away ? This alone filled my whole soul. 
Whither should I go ? No, of that I thought not. I crept 
along the floor to the open hole ; by the help of a block of 
wood I climbed up to it. I saw not a single person in the 
street. The doors were all closed. I must take a great leap 
if I would reach the ground ; I had not courage for the leap 
until I seemed to hear some one at my door ; they were com- 
ing in to me. A shudder went through me, I let myself slide 
from the wall. I fell heavily, but only upon earth and green 
turf. 

I started up and ran, without knowing whither, through the 
narrow, crooked streets. A man who sang aloud, and struck 
with his stick upon the stone pavement, was the only person I 
met. At length I stood in a great square : the moon shone 
brightly ; I knew the place ; it was the Forum Romanum, the 
cow-market, as we called it. 

The moon illumined the back of the Capitol, which, like a 
perpendicular wall of rock, seemed to divide the closely built 
part of Rome from that which was more open. Upon the 
high steps of the arch of Septimus Severus lay several beg- 


THE NIGHT IN THE COLISEUM, 35 

gars asleep, wrapped in their large cloaks. The tall columns 
which yet remain of the old temple cast long shadows. I had 
never been there before after sunset ; there was something 
spectral to me in the whole, and as I went along I stumbled 
over the marble capitals which lay in the long grass. I rose 
up and gazed upon the ruins of the city of the Caesars. The 
thick ivy made the walls still darker \ the black cyprc sses 
raised themselves so demonlike and huge in the blue air that 
I grew more and more fearful. In the grass amid the fallen 
columns and the marble rubbish, lay some cows, and a mule 
still grazed there ; it was a sort of consolation to me, that 
here were living creatures which would do me no harm. 

The clear moonlight made it almost as bright as day ; every 
object showed itself distinctly. I heard some one coming — 
was it some one in search of me ? In my terror I flew into the 
gigantic Coliseum, which lay before me like a vast mass of 
rock. I stood in the double-vaulted passage which surrounds 
one half of the building, and is large and perfect, as if only 
completed yesterday. Here it was quite dark, and ice-cold. 
I advanced a few steps from between the pillars, but softly, 
very softly, for the sound my own footsteps made me more 
fearful. I saw a fire upon the ground, and could distinguish 
before it the forms of three human beings ; were they peas- 
ants who had here sought out a resting-place for the night, 
that they might not ride over the desolate Campagna during 
the hours of darkness ? or were they, perhaps, soldiers who 
kept watch in the Coliseum ? or they might be robbers. I 
fancied that I heard the rattling of their weapons, and I there- 
fore withdrew softly back again to where the tall pillars stand 
without any other roof than that which is formed by bushes 
and climbing plants. Strange shadows fell in the moonlight 
upon the lofty wall ; square masses of stone shot out from 
their regular places, and, overgrown with evergreen, looked 
as if they were about to fall, and were only sustained by the 
thick climbers. 

Above, in the middle gallery, people were walking, travel- 
lers, certainly, who were visiting these remarkable ruins late 
in the beautiful moonlight ; a lady, dressed in white, was in 
the company. Now I saw distinctly this singular picture, as 


THE JMPROVISATORE. 


36 

it came into view, vanished, and again showed itself between 
the pillars, lighted by the moonbeams and the red torch. The 
air was of an infinitely dark blue, and tree and bush seemed 
as if made of the blackest velvet ; every leaf breathed night 
My eye followed the strangers. After they were all gone out 
of sight, I still saw the red glare of the torch ; but this also 
vanished, and all around me was as still as death. 

Behind one of the many wooden altars which stand not far 
apart within the ruins, and indicate the resting-points of the 
Saviour’s progress to the cross, I seated myself upon a fallen 
capital, which lay in the grass. The stone was as cold as ice, 
my head burned, there was fever in my blood ; I could not 
sleep, and there occurred to my mind all that people had re- 
lated to me of this old building: of the captive Jews who 
had been made to raise these huge blocks of stone for the 
mighty Roman Caesar ; of the wild beasts which, within this 
space, had fought with each other, nay, even with men also, 
while the people sat upon stone benches, which ascended, 
step-like, from the ground to the loftiest colonnade.^ 

There was a rustling in the bushes above me ; I looked up, 
and fancied that I saw something moving. O yes, my im- 
agination showed to me pale, dark shapes, which hewed and 
builded around me ; I heard distinctly every stroke which fell, 
saw the meagre, black-bearded Jews tear away grass and 
shrubs to pile stone upon stone, till the whole monstrous 
building stood there newly erected ; and now all was one 
throng of human beings, head above head, and the whole 
seemed one infinitely vast, living giant-body. 

I saw the Vestals in their long white garments ; the magnif- 
icent court of the Caesar ; the naked, bleeding gladiators ; then 
I heard how there was a roaring, and a howling round about 
in the lowest colonnades ; from various sides sprung in whole 

^ The Coliseum was built under Vespasian. Twelve thousand cap- 
tive JpAvs labored at its erection. The ruins are now used for Christian 
worship. 

“ Whilst stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; 

When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; 

And when Rome falls — the world.” — Byron. 


Author^ s Nate. 


THE NIGHT IN THE COLISEUM, 37 

herds of tigers and hyenas; they sped close past the spot 
where I lay ; I felt their burning breath ; saw their red, fiery 
glances, and held myself fast upon the stone upon which I 
was seated, whilst I prayed the Madonna to save me: but 
wilder still grew the tumult around me ; yet I could see in the 
midst of all the holy cross as it still stands, and which, when- 
ever I had passed it, I had piously kissed. I exerted all my 
strength, and perceived distinctly that I had thrown my arms 
around it ; but everything that surrounded me tumbled vio- 
lently together, — walls, men, beasts. Consciousness had left 
me ; I perceived nothing more. 

When I again opened my eyes, my fever was over, but I 
was enfeebled, and as if oppressed with weariness. 

I lay actually upon the steps of the great wooden cross. I 
noticed now all that surrounded me ; there was nothing at all 
terrific in it ; a deep solemnity lay upon the whole ; a nightin- 
gale sang among the bushes on the wall : I thought upon the 
dear child Jesus, whose mother, now that I had none, was 
mine also, threw my arms around the cross, rested my head 
against it, and soon sank into a calm, refreshing sleep. 

This must have lasted several hours. I was awoke by the 
singing of a psalm. The sun shone upon the highest part of 
the wall ; the Capuchins went with burning tapers from altar 
to altar, and sang their “ Kyrie eleison,” in the beautiful 
morning. They stood now around the cross where I lay : I 
saw Fra Martino bending over me. My forlorn appearance, 
my paleness, and my being here at this hour, made him un- 
easy. Whether I explained all to him I know not; but my 
terror of Uncle Peppo, and my forlorn condition, was clear 
enough to him ; I held fast by his brown cloak, prayed him 
not to leave me, and it seemed as if the brethren sympathized 
in my misfortune. They all, indeed, knew me ; I had been in 
the cells of all of them, and had sung with them before the 
holy altar. 

How glad then was I when Fra Martino led me back with 
him to the Convent, and how entirely I forgot all my need as 
T sat in his little cell, where the old wood-cuts were pasted 
upon the wall, and the orange-tree stretched its green, fra- 
grant twigs in at the window. Fra Martino also had promised 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


38 

me that I should not again be sent back to Peppo. “ A beg- 
gar,” I heard him say to the others, — ‘‘a begging cripple that 
lay in the streets craving our alms ; that the boy should never 
be!” 

At midday he brought me radishes, bread, and wine, and 
said to me, with such solemnity that my heart trembled within 
me, “ Poor lad I if thy mother had lived, then had we not 
been separated ; the Church would have possessed thee, and 
thou wouldest have grown up in its peace and protection. 
Now must thou go forth upon the restless sea, floating upon an 
insecure plank ; but think upon thy bleeding Saviour, and on 
the heavenly Virgin 1 Hold fast by them I Thou hast in the 
whole wide world only them I ” 

Where then shall I go ? ” I asked. And now he told me 
that I was to go to the Campagna, to the parents of Mariuc- 
cia, and besought me to honor them as father and mother, to 
be obedient to them in all things, and never to forget my 
prayers and the learning which he had given me. 

In the evening Mariuccia came with her father to the con- 
vent gate to fetch me ; Fra Martino led me out to them. 
With regard to dress, Peppo looked almost more respectable 
than this herdsman, to whom I was now consigned. The torn 
leather boots, the naked knees, the pointed hat in which was 
stuck a sprig of flowering heather, were the things which first 
caught my eye. He knelt down, kissed Fra Martino’s hand, 
and said of me that I was a pretty lad, and that he and his 
wife would divide every morsel with me. Mariuccia gave him 
the purse which contained all my wealth, and afterwards all 
four went into the church ; they prayed silently to themselves. 
I kneeled too, but I could not pray ; my eyes sought out all 
the beloved pictures : Jesus sailing in the ship, high above the 
church door; the angels in the great altar-piece, and the 
holy St. Michael ; even to the death’s heads, with ivy garlands 
around them, must I say farewell. Fra Martino laid his 
hand upon my head, and gave me at parting a little book, in 
which were wood-cuts, ‘‘ Modo di servire la sancta messa/^ and 
so we parted. 

As we went across the Piazza Barberini, I could not help 
looking up to my mother’s house ; all the windows stood open ; 
the rooms had new inmates. 


p 



THE CAMPAGNA. 


HE immense desert which lies around old Rome was 



X now my home. The stranger from beyond the moun- 
tains, who, full of love for art and antiquity, approaches the 
city of the Tiber for the first time, sees a vast page of the 
world in this parched-up desert ; the isolated mounds all 
here are holy ciphers, entire chapters of the world’s history. 
Painters sketch the solitary standing arch of a ruined aque- 
duct ; the shepherd who sits under it with his flock figures on 
the paper ; they give the golden thistle in the foreground, and 
people say that it is a beautiful picture. With what an 
entirely different feeling my conductor and I regarded the im- 
mense plain ! The burnt-up grass ; the unhealthy summer 
air, which always brings to the dwellers of the Campagna 
fevers and malignant sickness, were doubtless the shadow side 
of his passing observations. To me there was a something 
novel in all ; I rejoiced to see the beautiful mountains, which 
in every shade of violet color inclosed one side of the plain ; 
the wild buffalo, and the yellow Tiber, on whose shore oxen 
with their long horns went bending under the yoke, and draw- 
ing the boat against the stream. We proceeded in the same 
direction. 

Around us we saw only short, yellow grass, and tall, half- 
withered thistles. We passed a crucifix, which had been raised 
as a sign that some one had been murdered there, and near to 
it hung a portion of the murderer’s body, an arm and a foot ; 
this was frightful to me, and all the more so as it stood not far 
from my new home. This was neither more nor less than one 
of the old decayed tombs, of which so many remain here from 
the most ancient times. Most of the shepherds of the Cam- 
pagna dwell in these, because they find in them all that they 


40 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


require for shelter, nay, even for comfort. They excavate one 
of the vaults, open a few holes, lay on a roof of reeds, and the 
dwelling is ready. Ours stood upon a height, and consisted 
of two stories. Two Corinthian pillars at the narrow door- 
way bore witness to the antiquity of the building, as well as 
the three broad buttresses to its after-repairs. Perhaps it had 
been used in the Middle Ages as a fort ; a hole in the wall 
above the door served as a window ; one half of the roof was 
composed of a sort of reed and of twigs, the other half con- 
sisted of living bushes, from among which the honeysuckle 
hung down in rich masses over the broken wall. 

‘‘ See, here we are ! ’’ said Benedetto ; and it was the first 
word he had said to me on the whole way. 

Do we live here } ’’ I asked, and looked now at the gloomy 
dwelling, now back again to the mutilated remains of the rob- 
ber. Without giving me any reply, he called to an old 
w^oman, “ Domenica ! Domenica ! ’’ and I saw an aged woman, 
whose sole clothing consisted of a coarse shift, with bare arms 
and legs, and hair hanging loosely. She heaped upon me 
kisses and caresses ; and, if father Benedetto had been silent, 
she was only the more talkative ; she called me her little Ish- 
mael, who was sent out into the desert, where the wildimstles 
grow. But thou shalt not be famished with us ! ” said she. 
“ Old Domenica will be to thee a good mother in the place of 
her who now prays for thee in heaven ! And I have made thy 
bed ready for thee, and the beans are boiled, and my old Bene- 
detto and thou shalt sit down to table together ! And Mariuc- 
cia is not then come with you ? And thou hast seen the holy 
father? Yet hast not forgotten some presciutto, nor the brass 
hook, nor the new picture of the Madonna, for us to paste on 
the door beside the old one, which is black with our kissing. 
No, thou art a man who canst remember, who canst think, my 
own Benedetto ! ” 

Thus she proceeded with a torrent of words, and led us 
into the small room, which was called the chamber, but which 
afterwards appeared to me as large as the hall of the Vatican. 
I believe, indeed, that this home operated very much upon my 
poetical turn of mind. This little narrow room was, to my im- 
agination, what a weight is to the young palm-tree — the more 


THE CAMFAGNA. 


41 

it is compressed into itself, the more it grows. The house was, 
as has been said already, in the very ancient times, a family 
burial-place, which consisted of a large room, with many 
small niches, side by side, in two rows, one above the other, 
all covered over with the most artistical mosaic. Now was 
each put to very different purposes ; the one was a store-room, 
another held pots and pans, and a third was the fire-place, 
where the beans were cooked. 

Domenica prepared the table and Benedetto blessed the 
food j when we had had enough, the old mother took me up a 
ladder, through the broken vault in the wall to the second 
story, where we all slept in two great niches which had once 
been graves. In the furthest was the bed which was prepared 
for me ; beside of it stood two posts supporting a third, from 
which swung a sort of cradle, made of sail-cloth, for a little 
child ; I fancy Mariuccia’s : it was quite still. I laid myself 
down ; a stone had fallen out of the wall, and through the 
opening I could see the blue air without, and the dark ivy 
which like a bird, moved itself in the wind. As I laid myself 
down, there ran a thick, bright-colored lizard over the wall, 
but Domenica consoled me by saying that the poor little crea- 
ture was more afraid of me than I of it ; it would do me 
no harm ! and, after repeating over me an Ave Maria, she 
took the cradle over into the other niche w^here she and 
Benedetto slept. I made the sign of the holy cross, thought 
on my mother, on the Madonna, on my new parents, and on 
the executed robber’s bloody hand and foot which I had seen 
near the house, and these all mingled strangely in my dreams 
this first night. 

The next day began with rain, which continued for a whole 
week, and imprisoned us in the narrow room, in which was 
a half twilight, although the door stood open when the wind 
blew the rain the other way. I had to rock the baby which 
lay in the cradle. Domenica spun with her spindle ; told me 
tales of the robbers of the Campagna, who, however, did no 
harm j sang pious songs to me, taught me new prayers, and 
related to me new legends of saints which I had not heard 
before. Onions and bread were our customary food, and I 
thought them good ; but I grew weary of myself shut up in 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


42 

that narrow room ; and then Domenica just outside the door 
dug a little canal, a little winding Tiber, where the yellow 
water flowed slowly away. Little sticks and reeds were my 
boats, which I made to sail past Rome to Ostia ; but, when 
the rain beat in too violently, the door was obliged to be shut, 
and we sat almost in the dark. Domenica spun, and I 
thought about the beautiful pictures in the convent church ; 
seemed to see Jesus tossing past me in the boat; the Ma- 
donna on the cloud borne upwards by angels, and the tomb- 
stones with the garlanded heads. 

When the rainy season was over, the heavens showed for 
whole months their unchangeable blue. I then obtained leave 
to go out, but not too far, nor too near to the river, because 
the soft ground might so easily fall in with me, said Do- 
menica ; many buffaloes also grazed there, which were wild 
and dangerous, but, nevertheless, those had for me a pe- 
culiar and strange interest. The something demon-like in 
the look of the buffalo — the strange, red fire which gleamed 
in its eyeballs, awoke in me a feeling like that which drives 
the bird into the fangs of the snake. Their wild running, 
swifter than the speed of a horse, their mutual combats, 
where force meets with force, attracted my whole attention. I 
scrawled figures in the sand to represent what I had seen, and, 
to make this the more intelligible, I sang it all in its own pe- 
culiar words to its own peculiar melody, to the great delight of 
old Domenica, who said that I was a wise child, and sang as 
sweetly as the angels in heaven. 

The sun burnt hotter day by day ; its beams were like a sea 
of fire which streamed over the Campagna. The stagnant 
water infected the air ; we could only go out in the morning 
and evening ; such heat as this I had not known in Rome 
upon the airy Monte Pincio, although I well remembered then 
the hot time when the beggars had prayed for a small coin, 
not for bread, but for a glass of iced water. I thought in par- 
ticular about the delicious, green water-melons which lay one 
on another, divided in halves, and showed the purple-red flesh 
with the black seeds; my lips were doubly parched with 
thinking of these ! The sun burned perpendicularly ; my 
shadow seemed as if it would vanish under my feet. The buf* 


THE CAMPAGNA, 


43 

faloes lay like dead masses upon the burnt-up grass, or, ex- 
cited to madness, flew, with the speed of arrows, round in 
great circles. Thus my soul conceived an idea of the travel- 
lers’ suffering in the burning deserts of Africa. 

During two months we lay there like a wreck in the world’s 
sea. Not a single living creature visited us. All business 
was done in the night or else in the early hours of morning ; 
the unhealthy atmosphere and the scorching heat excited 
fever-fire in my blood ; not a single drop of anything cold 
could be had for refreshment j every marsh was dried up ; 
warm, yellow water, flowed sleepily in the bed of the Tiber , 
the juice of the melon was warm \ even wine, although it lay 
hidden among stones and rubbish, tasted sour and half boiled, 
and not a cloud, not a single cloud, was to be seen on the 
horizon — day and night always the everlasting, never-chang- 
ing blue. Every evening and morning we prayed for rain, or 
else a fresh breeze ; every evening and morning, Domenica 
looked to the mountains to see if no cloud raised itself, but 
night alone brought shade — the sultry shade of night ; the 
sirocco alone blew through the hot atmosphere for two long, 
long months. 

At the sun’s rise and setting alone was there a breath of 
fresh air ; but a dulness, a deathlike lethargy produced by the 
heat, and the frightful weariness which it occasioned, op- 
pressed my whole being. This and all kind of tormenting 
insects, which seemed destroyed by the heat, awoke at the first 
breath of air to redoubled life ; they fell upon us in myriads 
with their poison-stings ; the buffaloes often looked as if they 
were covered over with this buzzing swarm, which beset them as 
if they were carrion, until, tormented to madness, they betook 
themselves to the Tiber, and rolled themselves in the yellow 
water. The Roman who in the hot summer days groans in 
the almost expiring streets, and crawls along by the house- 
sides, as if he would drink up the shadow which is cast down 
from the walls, has still no idea of the sufferings in the Cam- 
pagna, where every breath which he draws is sulphurous, 
poisonous fire ; where insects and crawling things, like de- 
mons, torment him who is condemned to live in this sea of 
flame. 


THE JMPROVISATORE, 


44 

September brought with it milder days ; it sent out also 
Federigo one evening to make sketches of the burned-up 
landscape. He drew our singular house, the gallows, and the 
wild buffaloes. He gave me paper and pencils, that I also 
might draw pictures, and promised that when he came next 
time he would take me with him for a day to Rome, that I 
should visit Fra Martino and Mariuccia, and all my friends, 
who seemed really to have quite forgotten me ; but Federigo 
forgot me also. 

It was now November, and the most beautiful time which I 
had yet spent here. Cool airs were wafted from the moun- 
tains, and every evening I saw in the clouds that rich coloring 
which is only found in the south, and which the painter can- 
not and dare not give to his pictures. The singular, olive-green 
clouds, on a gray ground, were to me floating islands from 
the garden of paradise ; the dark-blue, on the contrary, those 
which hung like crowns of fir-trees in the glowing fire of the 
evening heaven, seemed to me mountains of felicity, in whose 
valleys the beautiful angels played and fanned cool breezes 
with their white wings. 

One evening as I sat sunk in my reveries, I found that I 
could gaze on the sun by looking through a finely pricked leaf. 
Domenica said that it would injure my eyes, and, to put an 
end to the sport, she fastened the door. The time went on 
wearily ; I prayed her to let me go out, and, as she consented, 
I sprang up gladly, and opened the door, but at the same mo- 
ment a man darted in so suddenly, that I was thrown to the 
ground ; with equal speed he closed the door again : scarcely 
had I perceived his pale, agitated countenance, and heard him 
in a tone of distress utter the name of the Madonna, when a 
violent blow so shattered the door, that it gave way and fell 
inward, and the whole opening was filled with the head of a 
buffalo, which glared upon us with his malicious, fiery eyes. 

Domenica gave a scream, seized me by the arm, and 
sprang up several steps of the ladder which led to the upper 
room. The stranger, pale as death, cast his eyes timidly 
around him, and perceiving Benedetto^s gun, which, in case of 
nocturnal inroads, always hung on the wall ready-charged, he 
seized it in a moment. I heard the report, and saw in the 


THE CAMPAGNA. 


45 

cloud of smoke how he had shot the beast through the fore- 
head. It stood immovably there, squeezed into the narrow 
doorway, and could neither come forward nor be moved back- 
ward. 

But, all ye saints 1 ” exclaimed Domenica, “ what have 
you done ? You have really taken the life of the beast ! ’’ 

“ Blessed be the Madonna ! ’’ replied the stranger ; she has 
saved my life, and thou wast my good angel ! ’’ said he, lift- 
ing me from the ground. Thou opened’st the door of salva- 
tion for me ! ’’ He was yet quite pale, and the cold sweat- 
drops stood upon his forehead. 

We heard immediately by his speech that he was no for- 
eigner, and saw that he must be a noble from Rome. He re- 
lated, moreover, that it was his pleasure to collect flowers and 
plants ; that for this purpose he had left his carriage at Ponte 
Molle,^ and was going along the banks of the Tiber. Not 
far from us he had fallen upon the buffaloes, one of which had 
immediately followed him, and he' alone was saved by the 
nearness of our house, and by the door suddenly opening, as 
if by miracle. 

Holy Maria, pray for us ! ” exclaimed Domenica ; yes, 
she has saved you, the holy mother of God ! and my little An- 
tonio was one of her elect ! yes, she loves him ! Excellenza 
does not know what a child that is ! read can he, everything, 
whether it is printed or written ! and draw so naturally, that 
one can see directly whatever it is meant for. The dome of 
St. Peter’s, the buffaloes, ay, even fat Father Ambrosius, has 
he drawn ; and then for his voice ! Excellenza should hear 
him sing ; the Pope’s singers could not excel him ; and besides 
that, he is a good child, a strange child. I would not praise 
him when he is present, because children cannot bear praise ; 
but he deserves it ! ” 

“ He is, then, not your own son ? ” inquired the stranger ; 
“he is too young for that.” 

“ And I am too old,” replied she. “ No, an old fig-tree has 
no such little heart-shoots ; the poor child has no other father 
and mother in the world than me and my Benedetto. But we 
will not part with him, even when we have not a stiver left of 
1 Pons Milvius. 


THE IMRKJVISATORE. 


46 

the money ! But then, Holy Virgin ! ’’ said she, interrupting 
herself, and taking hold of the horns of the buffalo, from the 
head of which the blood streamed into the room, “ we must 
have this beast away ! one can neither come in nor go out. 
Ah, yes ! it is jammed in quite fast. We can’t get out before 
Benedetto comes. If it only do not bring us into trouble 
that the beast is killed ! ” 

‘‘You may be quite easy, good woman,” said the stranger; 
“ I will answer for all. You have heard, perhaps, of the Bor- 
ghese } ” 

“ O Principe ! ” exclaimed Domenica, and kissed his 
clothes ; but he pressed her hand, and took mine between his, 
as he desired her to take me in the morning to Rome, to the 
Borghese Palace, where he lived, and to which family he be- 
longed. Tears filled the eyes of my old foster-mother on ac- 
count of his great favor, as she called it. My abominable 
scratches upon bits of paper, which she had preserved with as 
much care as if they had been the sketches of a Michael 
Angelo, must now be brought out. Excellenza must see every- 
thing which had pleased her, and I was proud because he 
smiled, patted my cheeks, and said that I was a little Salvator 
Rosa. 

“Yes,” said Domenica, “is it not extraordinary for a child? 
and is it not so natural that one can plainly see what all is 
meant for ? The buffaloes, the boats, and our little house. 
See ! and that is meant for me ! it is just like me ; only it 
wants coloring, for that he can’t do with pencil. Now, sing 
for Excellenza ! ” said she to me ; “ sing as well as thou canst, 
with thy own words ! Yes, he can put together whole histories 
and sermons as well as any monk ! Nay, let us hear ! Ex- 
cellenza is a gracious gentleman, he wishes it, and thou know- 
est how to keep tune.” 

The stranger smiled, and amused himself with us both. 
That Domenica should think my improvisation quite a master- 
piece was a thing of course : but what I sang, and how, I re- 
membered not, and yet that the Madonna, Excellenza, and the 
buffalo, were the poetical triad of the whole, I recollect dis 
tinctly. Excellenza sat silent, and Domenica read in this si 
lence astonishment at my genius. 


THE CAMPAGNA. 


47 

“ Bring the boy with you/’ were the first words which he 
spoke. “ I will expect you early to-morrow morning. Yet, 
no — come in the evening, an hour before the Ave Maria. 
When you come, my people shall be instructed immediately to 
admit you. But how am I to get out ? Have you any other 
mode of exit than this where the beast lies ^ and how shall I, 
without any danger from the buffaloes, get to my carriage at 
Ponte Molle ? ” 

“Yes, getting out,” said Domenica ; “ there is no possibility 
of that for Excellenza. I can, to be sure, and so can the 
rest of us ; but it is no way for such a great gentleman ! 
Above here there is a hole where one can creep out, and then 
slide down quite well : that even I can do in my old age ! but 
it is, as I said, not quite the thing for strangers and grand 
gentlefolks ! ” 

Excellenza mounted, in the mean time, up the narrow steps, 
stuck his head through the hole in the wall, and declared it 
was as good a way as the steps of the Capitol. The buffaloes 
had betaken themselves long ago to the Tiber, and on the 
road, not far from us, went a crowd of peasants sleepily and 
slowly along the great highway. These he would join ; behind 
their wagon, laden with reeds, he was safe from the buffaloes, 
if these ventured on a new attack. Yet once more he im- 
pressed it upon old Domenica to come the next day, an hour 
before the Ave Maria, extended his hand to her to kiss, stroked 
my cheek, and let himself slide down the thick ivy. We soon 
saw him overtake the wagon, behind which he vanished. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE VISIT IN THE BORGHESE PALACE. — END OF THE HISTORY 
OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

B enedetto and a couple of herdsmen afterwards re- 
moved the animal from the doorway ; there was a great 
talking and gossiping, but that which I distinctly remember 
was, that next morning, before break of day, I was awake and 
up, because towards evening I was going to the city with Do- 
menica. My Sunday clothes, which had lain for many months 
under lock and key, were now brought out, and a lovely rose 
was fastened into my little hat. My shoes were the worst 
part of my habiliments, and it would have been a difficult 
thing to decide whether they were that which they were called, 
or were not rather a pair of antique Roman sandals. 

How long was it across the Campagna now, and how the 
sunburned! Never in later times has the wine of Falernia 
and Cyprus tasted more delicious to me than the water which 
now poured from the mouth of the stone lion in the Piazzo 
del Popolo.^ I pressed my warm cheek to the jaws of the 
lion, and let the water spout over my head, to the great horror 
of Domenica, since by so doing my dress was wet and my 
hair disordered. In the mean time we strolled down the Via 
Ripetta, towards the Borghese Palace. How often before now 

1 In coming to Rome from the north, the way passes through the gate 
del Popolo, and the traveller then finds himself in the large, beautiful 
Piazzo del Popolo, which lies between the Tiber and Monte Pincio . On 
either hand he sees, under the shade of cypresses and acacias, modern 
statues and fountains, and in the middle of the square, between the well 
known four stone lions, stands an obelisk of the time of Sesostris. Be- 
yond lie the three straight streets, Via Babuino, II Corso, and Via Ripetta, 
two uniform churches terminating the principal one, II Corso. No city 
can have a more pleasant, more gay, cheerful appearance, than old Rome 
from this point. — Author’s Note, 


VISIT IN THE BORGHESE PALACE, 


49 


had I. and Domenica no less, gone past this building without 
regarding it otherwise than any other indifferent object : but 
now we stood and contemplated it in regular silence ; all 
seemed so great to us, so magnificent, so rich, and especially 
the long silken curtains in the windows. We knew Excellenza 
within there ; he was actually at our house yesterday ; that 
gave a peculiar interest to the whole. I shall never forget the 
strange tremor which the pomp of the building and of the 
rooms produced in me : I had talked quite familiarly with Ex- 
cellenza j he was, in reality, a human being like all the rest of 
us ; but all this possession, this magnificence ! — yes, now I 
was aware of the glory which separated the holy from man- 
kind. In the centre of the palace four lofty whitewashed 
colonnades, filled with statues and busts, inclosed a little gar- 
den ; ^ tall aloes and cactuses grew up the pillars ; citron-trees 
stood there with grass-green fruit which was not yet yellowed 
by the sun. Two dancing Bacchantes held a water-bowl aloft, 
but so obliquely that the water streamed upon their shoulders ,* 
tall water-plants drooped over them their juicy, green leaves. 
How cool, green, and fragrant, was everything here in com- 
parison with the sterile, burnt-up, burning Campagna ! 

We ascended the broad marble steps. Bea.utiful statues 
stood in niches, before one of which Domenica knelt, and 
piously made the sign of the cross. She thought .that it was 
the Madonna; afterwards I learned that it was Vesta, the 
holy virgin also of a more ancient time. Servants in rich 
livery received us ; they met us so kindly that my fear would 
somewhat have abated had not the hall been so large and so 
magnificent ! The floor was of marble, as smooth as glass, 
and on all the walls hung beautiful pictures ; and where these 
were not, the walls were covered with looking-glass, and painted 
with angels that bore garlands and sprays of flowers, and with 
beautiful birds that extended their broad wings and pecked at 
red and golden fruit. Never had I seen any thing so splen- 
did ! 

We had to wait a few moments, and then Excellenza entered, 
accompanied by a beautiful lady dressed in white, with large, 

1 Tins little garden has been since then altered into a flagged court.— 
luthoAs Note. 


4 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


50 

lively eyes, which she riveted upon us. She looked at me 
with a singularly penetrating but kind glance, stroked my fcsir 
from my forehead, and said to him, Yes, as I said, an angel 
has saved you ! I’ll wager that there are wings under that 
ugly, narrow jacket.” 

No,” replied he, “ I read in his red cheeks that the Tiber 
will send many waves to the sea before his wings shoot out : 
the old mother will rather not that he should fly away. That’s 
true, is it not ? You would not like to part with him ? ” 

No ; that would be the same as blocking up the door and 
window of my little house ! then it would be dark and lone- 
some ; no, I can’t part with the sweet child ! ” 

‘‘But for this one evening,” said the lady, “he can stop 
some hours with us, and then you can fetch him ; you have 
beautiful moonlight to go back in, and you are not afraid cf 
robbers ? ” 

“ Yes, the boy stops here for an hour, and you, in the mean 
time, can go and buy one thing and another that you have need 
of at home,” said Excellenza, and thrust a little purse intc 
Domenica’s hand. I heard no more, for the lady took me 
with her into the hall, and left him and the old mother to- 
gether. 

The rich splendor, the high-born company, quite dazzled 
me ; now I looked at the smiling angel-children that peeped 
forth from among the green vine-leaves on the walls ; now on 
the violet-stockinged senators and the red-legged cardinals, 
who had always appeared to me as a sort of demi-gods, but 
in whose circle I seemed now to be received. But, above all, 
my eye was attracted to the beautiful Cupid which, like a 
lovely child, rode upon the ugly dolphin, which threw up two 
great streams of water, that fell back again into the basin in 
which it swam in the middle of the hall. 

The high-bred company, nay, even the cardinals and sena- 
tors, smiled to me a welcome, and a young, handsome man, 
dressed as an officer of the papal guard, extended to me his 
hand, when the young lady introduced me as her uncle’s 
good angel. They asked me a thousand questions, to which 
I readily replied, and soon resounded laughter and the clap- 
ping of hands. Excellenza came up, and said that I must 


VISIT IN THE BORGHESE PALACE. 5 I 

sing them a song, which I did willingly. The young officer 
gave me a glass of foaming wine, but the young lady shook 
her head and took the glass from me before I had emptied it 
Like fire and flame the wine went through my blood. The 
officer said that I must sing about the handsome lady who 
stood smiling beside me, and I joyfully did as he desired. 
Heaven knows what I mixed up together, but my stream of 
words passed for eloquence, my boldness for wit ; and because 
I was a poor lad from the Campagna the whole bore the stamp 
of genius. All applauded me, and the officer himself took 
a wreath of laurel from a bust which stood in a corner, 
and placed it, half smiling, on my head. The whole was a 
jest, yet I regarded it as sober earnestness — as a homage 
which made me happy, and made this the brightest moment of 
my life. I sang to them the songs which Mariuccia and Do- 
menica had taught me \ described to them the wicked eyes of 
the buffaloes and our room in the ruined tomb. Only too 
quickly passed the time ; I must now go home again with my 
old foster-mother. Laden with cakes, fruit, and several silver 
coins, I followed her : she was as happy as I was ; had made 
many purchases ; articles of clothing, cooking-vessels, and two 
great bottles of wine. The evening was infinitely beautiful. 
The night slumbered upon trees and shrubs, but high above us 
hung the full moon, which, like a lovely golden boat in the far 
outspread dark blue sea of air, sent down coolness over the 
burnt-up Campagna. 

I thought upon the rich saloon, the kind lady, and the many 
applauding claps ; dreamed, both waking and sleeping, the 
same delicious dream, which was speedily to be reality — beau- 
tiful reality. 

More than once was I fetched to Rome. The lovely, 
friendly lady, amused herself with my peculiar turn of mind , 
she made me tell her tales, talk to her just as I did to old 
Domenica ; she had great delight in it, and praised me to Ex- 
cellenza. He, too, was kind to me, doubly kind, inasmuch as 
he was the innocent cause of my mother’s death ; for he it was 
who sat in the carriage when the runaway horses passed over 
her head. The beautiful lady was called Francesca ; she often 
took me with her into the rich picture-gallery which the Bor- 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


52 

ghese Palace contained ; my naive questions and observations 
on the glorious pictures made he^ smile ; she told them again 
to others, and all laughed with her. In the mornings the hall 
was filled with strangers, who came from beyond the moun- 
tains. Artists also at that time copied various paintings, but 
in the afternoons the pictures were left to their own solitude ; 
then Francesca and I went in, and she related to me many 
histories, to which the pictures gave occasion. 

^‘The Seasons,’’ by Francesca Albani, were beyond aL 
others my favorite pieces ; the beautiful, joyous, angel-children, 
Loves, as she taught me to call them, were as if creations of 
my own dreams. How deliciously they were staggering about 
in the picture of Spring ! A crowd of them were sharpening 
arrows, whilst one of them turned round the great grindstone, 
and two others, floating above, poured water upon it. In 
Summer they flew among the green trees which were loaded 
with fruit, which they plucked. They swam in the fresh water, 
and played with it. Autumn brought the pleasures of the 
chase. Cupid sits with a torch in his hand, in his little 
chariot, 'which two of his comrades draw ; whilst Love beckons 
to the brisk hunter, and shows him the place where they can 
rest themselves side by side. Winter has lulled all the little 
ones to sleep ; soundly and fast they lie slumbering around. 
The Nymphs steal their quivers and arrows, which they throw 
on the fire, that there may be an end of the dangerous weapons. 

Why angels were called Loves? why they went about shoot- 
ing — yes, there were many things of which I wanted to have 
a plainer explanation than Francesca at this moment gave 
me. 

“ Thou must read thyself about them,” said she ; “ there 
is a great deal with which thou must become acquainted, but 
the beginning is not attractive ! The whole day long thou 
must sit on a bench with thy book, not play with the goats in 
the Campagna, or go here and there looking after thy little 
friends ! Which now shouldst thou like best : either to ride 
with a helmet and sword beside the coach of the holy father, 
and wear a fine suit of armor from head to foot, like that in 
which thou hast seen Fabiani, or to understand all the bi^auti- 
ful pictures which thou seest here, know the whole world 


V/S/T IN THE BORGHESE PALACE. 53 

around thee, and a thousand histories far more beautiful than 
those which I have told thee ? ’’ 

“ But can I then never again come to thee ? ’’ asked I ; “ can 
I not live with good Domenica ? ’’ 

Dost thou still remember thy mother, thy dear home with 
her ? Then thou desiredest ever to remain there ; thought 
not of Domenica, not of me ; and now we are both of us so 
much to thee. In a short time this may be again the case j 
and so it goes through one’s whole life.” 

But you two are not dead, like my mother ! ” I replied, 
with tears in my eyes. 

“ Die or part must we all ! There will come a time when 
we shall not be altogether as we are now, and I then would 
know thee joyful and happy.” 

A torrent of tears was my answer ; I felt very unhappy, 
without properly knowing how to explain the cause of my 
being so. Francesca patted me on the cheek, said that I was 
quite too sensitive, and that this was not at all good in the 
world. Now came Excellenza, and the young officer with him, 
who had placed the garland on my head the first time I had 
improvised before him. He was called Fabiani, and was also 
very fond of me. 

There is a marriage, a splendid marriage at the Villa 
Borghese,” was shouted some evenings afterwards, till it 
reached Domenica’s poor house on the Campagna. Fran- 
cesca was the bride of Fabiani, and must now, in a few days, 
accompany him to his seat near Florence. The marriage was 
celebrated at the Villa Borghese, just in the neighborhood of 
Rome, in the beautiful thick grove of laurels and evergreen 
oaks, where the lofty pines, winter and summer, lift up their 
perpetually bright green crowns into the blue air. Then, as 
now, was that grove a place of recreation for the Romans, as 
well as for strangers. Rich equipages rolled along the thick 
iak-alleys ; white swans swam on the still lakes, within which 
the weeping willow was mirrored, and where artificial cascades 
fell over blocks of stone. High-breasted Roman women, wath 
flashing eyes, rolled forth to the festival, and looked proudly 
down upon the life-enjoying peasant-girl, who danced upon the 
highway to the music of her tambourine. Old Domenica 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


54 

went with me all the long way across the Campagna, that we 
also might be together at the bridal of our benefactress. Out- 
side the garden where the tall aloes grew up like espaliers along 
the white wall, we stood and saw the lights shine in the win- 
dows. Francesca and Fabiani were married. From the 
saloon came forth to us the sound of music ; and from the 
green plain, on which the amphitheatre was erected, rockets 
mounted, and beautiful fire-works played in the blue air. The 
shadows of a lady and gentleman were seen on the curtains 
of one of the lofty windows. “ It is he and she ! ’’ said Do- 
menica. The shadows bent towards each other in the half- 
darkened window as if to unite in a kiss. I saw my old foster- 
mother fold her hands and pray ; I also sank down involun- 
tarily before the black cypresses, and prayed for my beloved, 
good signora j Domenica kneeled with me. ‘‘ May they be 
happy ! ” and now rained the fire, like a thousand falling stars, 
as if in token of assent from Heaven. But my good old 
mother wept, wept for me who was soon to be separated from 
her. Excellenza had purchased me a place in the Jesuits’ 
school, where I was to be brought up with other children, and 
to a more splendid life than old Domenica and the Campagna 
could afford me. 

“ It is now for the last time,” said the old mother, “ that we 
two, whilst my eyes are yet open, shall go together over the 
Campagna ! Thy feet will tread on polished floors, and on gay 
carpets ; these old Domenica has not : but thou hast been a 
good child ; thou wilt remain so, and never forget me and 
poor Benedetto ! O God ! yet can a dish of roasted chestnuts 
make thee happy ? Thou shalt sit and blow up the reeds, and 
I will see God’s angel in thy eyes, when the reeds burn, and 
the poor chestnuts roast ; so glad wilt thou never more be with 
so small a gift ! The thistles of the Campagna bear yet red 
flowers ; upon the polished floors of the rich there grow no 
straws, and the ground is smooth, one falls so easily there ! 
Never forget that thou wast a poor child, my little Antonio. 
Remember that thou must see and not see, hear and not hear ; 
then thou wilt get through the world. Some day, when our 
Lord has called away me and Benedetto, when the little child 
which thou hast rocked goes creeping through life with a poor 


END OF THE HISTORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 55 

partner in the Campagna, thou wilt, perhaps, then go past in 
thy own chariot, or on a fine horse ; halt thou before the old 
tomb-chamber where thou hast slept, played, and lived with 
us, and thou wilt see strangers living there, who will bow 
themselves deeply before thee. Haughty thou wilt not be ; but 
think upon old times, think upon old Domenica ! Look in at 
the place where the chestnuts were cooked, and where thou 
rockedst the little child. Thou wilt think upon thy own poor 
childhood, thou heart’s darling child ! ” With this she kissed 
me, and clasped me closely to her breast and wept : it seemed 
to me as if my heart would break. 

Our return home and her words were to me far more dis- 
tressing than our parting even somewhat later ; then she said 
nothing, but only wept ; and when we were outside the door 
she ran back, and took down the old, half-blackened picture 
of the Madonna, which was pasted behind the door, and gave 
it to me ; I had kissed it so often — it was the only thing 
which she had to give me. 


CHAPTER VII. 


SCHOOL-LIFE. — HABEAS DAHDAH. — DIVINA COMMEDIA. THE 

senator’s nephew. 

S IGNORA had journeyed away with her husband ; I was 
become a scholar in the school of the Jesuits ; new occu- 
pations engrossed me ; new acquaintances presented them- 
selves ; the dramatical portion of my life begins to unfold it- 
self. Here years compress themselves together ; every hour 
is rich in change, a whole cycle of pictures, which, now seen 
from a distant point of view, melt together into one great 
painting — my school-life. As it is to the stranger who for 
the first time ascends the mountains, and now looks down 
from above over a sea of clouds and mist, which, by degrees, 
raises itself or separates, so that now a mountain-top with a 
city peeps forth ; now the sun-illumined part of a valley re- 
veals itself. Thus comes forward and changes the world of my 
mind. Lands and cities, about which I had never dreamed, 
lay hid behind the mountains which bounded the Campagna : 
history peopled every portion of the earth for me, and sang to 
me strange legends and adventures ; every flower, every plant, 
contained a meaning ; but most beautiful to me appeared my 
father-land, the glorious Italia ! I was proud of being a Ro- 
man ; every point in my native city was dear and interesting 
to me ; the broken capitals, which were thrown down as cor- 
ner-stones in the narrow streets, were to me holy relics — 
Memnon’s pillars, which sang strangely to my heart. The 
reeds by the Tiber whispered to me of Romulus and Remus ; 
triumphal arches, pillars, and statues, impressed upon me yet 
more deeply the history of my father-land. I lived in its clas- 
sical antiquity, and the present time, that will speak for itself: 
my teacher of history gave me praise and honor for it. 

Every society, the political as well as the spiritual, assem- 


HABEAS DAHDAH 


57 

blies in the taverns, and the elegant circles around the card- 
tables of the rich, all have their harlequin \ he bears now a 
mace, orders, or ornaments : a school has him no less. The 
young eyes easily discover the butt of their jests. We had 
ours, as well as any other club, and ours was the most 
solemn, the most grumbling, growling, preaching of harle- 
quins, and, on that account, the most exquisite. The Abbe 
Habbas Dahdah, an Arab by descent, but educated from his 
earliest childhood in the papal jurisdiction, was at this time 
the guide and director of our taste, the assthetical head of the 
Jesuit school, nay, of the Academia Tiberina. 

In later years I have often reflected on poetry, that singular, 
divine inspiration. It appears to me like the rich gold ore in 
the mountains ; refinement and education are the wise work- 
men who know how to purify it. Sometimes purely unmixed 
ore-dust is met with, the lyrical improvisation of the poet by 
nature. One vein yields gold, another silver ; but there are also 
tin, and even more ordinary metals found, which are not to be 
despised, and which sometimes can, with polishing and adorn- 
ing, be made to look like gold and silver. According to these 
various metals I now rank my poets, as golden, silver, copper, 
and iron men. But after these comes a new class, who only 
work in simple potters’ clay — the poetasters — yet who desire 
as much to be admitted to the true guild. Habbas Dahdah 
was one of these, and had just ability sufficient to make a sort 
of ware, which with a kind of poetical facility he overwhelmed 
people, with whom, as regarded deep feeling and poetical 
spirit, he could not measure himself Easy, flexile verses, and 
the artistical formation of them, so that they only brought be- 
fore the eye existences, hearts, and other such things, obtained 
from him admiration and applause. 

It might be, therefore, perhaps only the very peculiar melody 
of Petrarch’s sonnets that attracted him to this poet. Perhaps, 
also, only fashion, or a fixed idea, a bright gleam in the sickli- 
ness of his views, for Petrarch and Habbas Dahdah were ex- 
tremely different beings. He compelled us to learn by heart 
almost a fourth part of the long epic poem, Africa,” where 
salt tears and blows rained down in honor of Scipio.^ 

1 In order to immortalize himself and the Scipios, Petrarch wrote an 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


58 

The profoundness of Petrarch was daily impressed upon us. 

Superficial poets,” said he, “ those who only paint with 
water-colors, children of fancy, are the very spawn of corrup- 
tion ; and among the very greatest of these that Dante, who 
set heaven, earth, and hell, in movement to obtain immor- 
tality, which Petrarch has already won by a single little sonnet 

— is disgusting, very disgusting ! To be sure he could write 
verse ! It is these billows of sound which carry his Tower of 
Babel to the latest age. If he had only followed his first plan, 
and had written in Latin, he would have shown study ; but 
that was inconvenient to him, and so he wrote in the Vul- 
gate which we now have. ‘ It is a stream,’ says Boccaccio, 
‘through which a lion can swim, and a lamb may walk.’ I 
find not this depth and this simplicity. There is in him no 
right foundation, an eternal swaying between the past and the 
present ! But Petrarch, that apostle of the truth, did not 
exhibit his fury with the pen by placing a dead pope or em- 
peror in hell ; he stood in his time like the Chorus in the 
Greek tragedy, a male Cassandra, warning and blaming popes 
and princes. Face to face he dared to say to Charles the 
Fourth, ‘ One can see in thee that virtues are not heritable ! ’ 
When Rome and Paris wished to offer him the garland, he 
turned to his contemporaries with a noble self-consciousness, 
and bade them to declare aloud whether he were worthy to be 
crowned as a poet. For three days he submitted to an exam- 
ination as if he were a regular school-boy like you, before he 
would ascend the Capitol, where the King of Naples hung 
around him the purple mantle, and the Roman senate gave to 
him the laurel crown which Dante never obtained.” 

Such was every oration which he made, to elevate Petrarch 
and depreciate Dante, instead of placing the noble pair side 
b}' side, like the fragrant night-violet and the blooming rose. 
We had to learn all his sonnets by heart. Of Dante we read 
not a word ; and I only learned through the censure of Hab- 
bas Dahdah that he had occupied himself with heaven, pur- 
gatory, and hell, — three elements which attracted me in the 

epic poem called Africa which is now forgotten in the glory of his melo- 
dious sonnets to Laura, which he himself did not set any high value upon. 

— Authors Note, 


DIVINA COMMEDIA, 


59 

highest degree, and inspired me with the greatest desire to 
become acquainted with his works. But this could only be 
done in secret ; Habbas Dahdah would never have forgiven 
me meddling with this forbidden fruit. 

One day as I was walking on the Piazzo Navone, among the 
piled-up oranges, and the iron wares which lay on the ground, 
among the old clothes, and all that chaos of rags which this 
place exhibits, I came upon a table of old books and prints. 
There lay caricatures of maccaroni-swallowers. Madonnas 
with the sword in the bleeding heart, and such like highly dis 
similar things. A single volume of Metastasio drew my at 
tention ; I had a paolo in my pocket — a great sum for me, 
and the last remains of the scudi which Excellenza had given 
me half a year before for pocket-money. I was willing to ex- 
pend a few bajocci^ on Metastasio, but I could not separate 
myself from my whole paolo. The bargain was nearly closed, 
when my eyes caught a title-page, “ Divina Commedia di 
Dante ” — my forbidden fruit of the tree of the knowledge of 
good and evil ! I threw down Metastasio and seized the 
other ; but the price of this was too high for me ; three paoH 
I could not raise. I turned the money in my hand till it 
burned like fire, but it would not double itself, and I could 
only beat down the seller to that price. This was the best 
book in Italy — the first poetical work in the world, he said * 
and a stream of eloquence over Dante, the depreciated Dante 
of Habbas Dahdah, poured from the lips of the honest man. 

“ Every leaf,’’ said he, is as good as a sermon. He is a 
prophet of God, under whose guidance one passes through the 
flames of hell, and through the eternal paradise. You do not 
know him, young gentleman ! or otherwise you would imme- 
diately give the price if I asked a scudi for him ! For your 
whole life long you have then the most beautiful book of the 
father-land, and that for two poor paoli ! ” 

Ah ! I would willingly have given three if I had but had 
them, but now it was with me as with the fox and the sour 
grapes ; I also would show my wisdom, and retailed a part of 
Habbas Dahdah’s oration against Dante, whilst I exalted 
Petrarch. 

1 A scudi contains ten paoli, and a paolo ten bajocci; these last ar# 
copper coins, the other silver. — Author's Note. 


6o 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


Yes, yes ! ” said the bookseller, after he had vindicated 
his poet with much violence and warmth, ‘‘ you are too young, 
and I am too much of a layman to be able to judge such peo- 
ple. They may both be very good in their way ! You have 
not read him ! you cannot ! A young, warm fellow cannot 
cherish bitterness against a world’s prophet ! ” 

As I now honestly confessed to him that my opinion was 
merely founded upon the judgment of my teacher, out of in- 
spiration for his poet’s works he seized the book and threw it 
to me, demanding only, in return for the paolo short, that I 
would now read it, and not condemn the pride of Italy, her 
beloved, divine Dante. 

0 how happy that book made me ! It was now my own, 
my own forever. I had always cherished a doubt of the bitter 
judgment of Habbas Dahdah ; my curiosity and the warmth 
of the bookseller excited me in the highest degree, so that I 
could hardly wait for the moment when, unseen by others, I 
could begin the book. 

A new life was now opened to me ; my imagination found 
in Dante an undiscovered America, where nature operated on 
a larger and more luxuriant scale than I had before seen, 
where were more majestic mountains, a richer pomp of color. 
I took in the great whole, and suffered and enjoyed with the 
immortal singer. The inscription over the entrance to hell 
rung within me, during my wandering with him below, like the 
tolling for the last judgment : — 

“ Through me ye enter the abode of woe ; 

Through me to endless sorrow are ye brought ; 

Through me amid the souls accurst ye go. 

Justice did first my lofty Maker move : 

By power Almighty was my fabric wrought, 

By highest wisdom, and by primal love.’’ ^ 

1 saw in that air, ever black, like the sand of the desert 
which is whirled by the tempest, the race of Adam falling like 
leaves in autumn, whilst lamenting spirits howled in the tor- 
rent of air. Tears filled my eyes at the sight of noble, lofty 
beings who, unparticipants of Christianity, had here their 
abode* Homer, Socrates, Brutus, Virgil, and many others, 

1 Wright’s Dante. 


DIVmA COMMEDIA, 


6i 


the noblest and best of antiquity, were here, forever remote 
from Paradise. It was not enough for me that Dante had 
made everything as comfortable and well as it could be in 
hell. Existence there was yet a grief without suffering, a'hope- 
less longing ; they belonged still to the realm of the damned, 
were inclosed by the deep marshes of hell, from which the 
sighs of the damned rose up bubble on bubble of poisonous 
and pestilent vapor. Wherefore had not Christ, when he was 
down in hell, and again ascended to the right hand of the 
Father, taken all with him out of the Valley of Longing? 
Could love make a selection among the equally unfortunate ? 

* I forgot entirely that the whole was but a fiction. The deep 
sigh from the sea of boiling pitch went to my heart ; I saw 
them — saw the herd of Simonists come up, and the demons 
that pushed them down again with their sharp forks. The 
living descriptions stamped themselves deeply on my soul, 
and mingled in my ideas by day and my dreams by night. 
Often when I slept they heard me exclaim, “Pape Satan, 
alepp Satan Pape ! ” They fancied that I had combats with 
the Devil, and it was reminiscences of that which I had read 
that I repeated. 

In the hours of instruction my mind wandered — a thousand 
ideas thronged in upon me. With the utmost willingness to 
do so, I could not drive them away. “ What art thou think- 
ing of, Antonio ? ’’ they exclaimed to me ; and shame and 
terror overwhelmed me, for I knew very well what I was 
thinking of ; but to leave Dante, and not to finish wander- 
ing, was to me impossible. 

The day seemed to me long and oppressive, like the gilded 
mantle of lead which the hypocrite was compelled to wear in 
the hell of Dante. With uneasiness of heart I crept to my 
forbidden fruit, and drew in images of terror, which punished 
me for my imagined sins. Nay, I felt even the sting of the 
snakes of the pit, which stung and writhed about in flames, 
wherefrom they, revivified like the phenix, ascended again to 
spit out their poison. 

The other scholars who slept in the same room with me 
were often awoke in the night by my cries, and told of my 
strange, disconnected talk about hell and the damned. The 


62 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


old custodian had seen one morning, to his terror, that I had 
raised myself up in bed, with my eyes open, yet fast asleep^ 
called upon Lucifer, and wrestled with him, until quite ex- 
hausted I had sunk back on the pillow. 

It was now the universally received opinion that I had com- 
bats with the Evil One ; my bed was sprinkled with holy 
water ; I was enjoined to repeat a certain number of prayers 
before I laid myself in bed. Nothing could operate more 
injuriously on my health than exactly this mode of treatment ; 
my blood was put only into a greater state of ferment thereby, 
and I myself into a more anxious condition, for I knew the 
cause of all this, and saw how I betrayed it. At length I 
reached the point of transition, and came out of the storm 
of calm. 

Among all the scholars no one stood higher, either by abil- 
ities or birth, than Bernardo, the life-rejoicing, almost dissolute 
Bernardo. It was his daily jest to ride upon the projecting 
spout high above the fourth story, and to balance himself upon 
a board between the two corner windows under the roof. All 
the uproars in our little school kingdom were attributed to 
him, and that mostly with justice. It was wished that the 
stillness and repose of the convent might be diffused over us 
and the whole building, but Bernardo was the disturbing Ko- 
bold, yet he never showed himself to be malicious. It was 
only with regard to Habbas Dahdah that he played a little 
with the black coloring, and then these two were always on 
bad terms. But this did not annoy Bernardo. He was the 
nephew of a senator of Rome, was possessed of great wealth, 
and had brilliant prospects in life ; “ for Fortune,^^ said Habbas 
Dahdah, ‘‘ threw her pearls into the hollow trees and passed 
into a sort over the slender pines.’’ 

Bernardo had his determined opinion in everything ; and 
when, among his school companions, he could not make his 
word effective, his hands came to his service, in order to inoc- 
ulate his sap green ideas upon the back of the refractory ; he 
was always, therefore, the dominant spirit. Although we 
were of natures extremely dissimilar, there still existed between 
us the best understanding. I was, to be sure, always the one 
who yielded, but even this gave him occasion to deride me. 


THE SENATORS NEPHEW, 


63 

‘‘ Antonio ! ” said he, I would cudgel you if I only knew 
that, by so doing, I could excite a little gall in you. If you 
would only for once show some character — strike me in the 
face with your clenched fist when I laugh at you, then I could 
be your most faithful friend ; but now I must give up every 
hope of you ! ” 

One morning, when we were alone together in the great 
hall, he seated himself upon the table before me, looked into 
my face, laughing, and said, — 

“You are, however, a greater villain than I ! You play, 
indeed, an excellent comedy ! For this, folks have their beds 
sprinkled, and their persons fumed. If you do not guess why, 
I do. You read Dante’s ‘ Commedia ! ’ ” 

I grew crimson, and inquired how he could accuse me of 
such a thing. 

“ Have you not to-night described the devil to me in sleep, 
just out of the ‘ Divina Commedia ? ’ Shall I tell you a story ? 
You are possessed of much fancy, and can enjoy yourself over 
such descriptions. In hell, there are not merely fire-seas and 
infected moors, as you know very well from Dante, but also 
great pools all frozen over ; ice, and ice, where the souls are 
eternally frozen fast : when one has passed these, one descends 
to the very deepest depth, where they are who have betrayed 
their benefactors ; consequently there is Lucifer, the rebel 
against God, our greatest benefactor. He stands sunk up 
to the breast in ice, with outstretched jaws, in which he holds 
fast Brutus, Cassius, and Judas Iscariot; and this last has his 
head downwards, whilst the grim Lucifer shakes his monstrous 
bat’s wings. See, my son, when one has once seen the fellow, 
one does not very soon forget him. I made acquaintance with 
him in Dante’s hell ; and you have described him to a hair 
this night in your sleep. Therefore I say to you, how it is 
you have been reading Dante ; but then you were honester 
than now. You bade me be silent, and mentioned by name 
our amiable Habbas Dahdah. Confess it only, now you are 
awake ! I will not betray you. That is at last something in 
you that I can like. Yes, yes, I had always a sort of hope of 
jou. But how have you got hold of the book ? From me you 
might have had it ; I possessed myself of it immediately, for. 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


64 

when Habbas Dahdah spoke ill of it, I conceived the idea 
that it was worth the trouble of reading. The thick volume 
regularly terrified me j but, that I might laugh at him, I took 
it in hand, and now I am reading it for the third time. Is not 
hell brilliant ? Where do you think that Habbas Dahdah will 
go ? He may do with either hot or cold ! ’’ 

My secret was now betrayed ; but I could depend on Ber- 
nardo’s silence. A more confidential connection was knit be- 
tween us. Our conversation, when we were alone, turned upon 
the “ Divina Commedia ; ” that occupied and inspired me ; and 
I must converse on that which employed my soul and my 
thoughts. ‘‘ Dante, and his immortal work,” was, therefore, 
the first of my poems which I wrote down. 

In my edition of the Divina Commedia,” there was a life of 
the author, a mere sketch, to be sure, but sufficient to enable 
me to comprehend his peculiar character. I sang of pure 
spiritual love in him and Beatrice, described his suffering in 
the struggle between the black and the white, the weary wan 
derings of the excommunicated over the mountains, and his 
death among strangers. I spoke with most animation of the 
flight of the enfranchised soul — its glance backwards upon 
earth, and down to the deep. The whole thing was borrowed, 
in small features, from his immortal poem. Purgatory, as he 
himself had sung it, opened itself again ; the miracle-tree 
shone with glorious fruit upon its bended branches, which 
were sprinkled by an eternally rushing waterfall. He sat in 
the boat where the angel spread out his large white wings as 
sails, whilst the mountains around trembled as the purified 
soul ascended to paradise, where the sun and all the angels, 
like mirrors, reflected the beams of the Eternal God ; where 
all was bliss, and where the lowest as well as the highest 
participated equally of happiness, according to the degree in 
which every heart could comprehend it. 

Bernardo heard my poem, and considered it quite a master 
piece. Antonio,” said he, “ you must repeat that at the fes- 
tival. It will vex Habbas Dahdah ! It is splendid ! Yes, 
yes, this, and none other shall you repeat ! ” 

I made a movement of dissent 

“ How ? ” exclaimed he, “ you will not ? Then I will. T 


THE SENATORS NEPHEW. 


65 

will torment him with the immortal Dante. Glorious Anto- 
nio, give me your poem. I will repeat it. But then it must 
really be given to me ! Will you not be unwilling to give up 
your beautiful plumage to deck out the jackdaw ? You are 
really an incomparably good-natured fellow ; and this will be 
a beautiful act in you ! You will consent ? 

How willingly would I oblige him ; how willingly even 
would I see the fun ! There did not need much persuasion. 

It was at this time the custom in the Jesuit school, as now 
in the Propaganda in the Spanish Square, that on the 13th of 
January, in onore dei sancti re magi^^^ that the greater part 
of the scholars made speeches in public ; either a poem in one 
of the various languages which was taught here, or in that of 
his home or native country. We ourselves could make choice 
of the subject, which was only submitted to the censorship of 
our teacher, after which we were permitted to work it out. 

And you, Bernardo,^’ asked Habbas Dahdah, on the day 
on which we announced our themes — you, Bernardo, have 
not chosen anything? You do not belong to the race of sing- 
ing-birds — we may certainly pass by you ! ’’ 

‘‘ O no,” was the reply, ‘‘ I shall venture this time. I have 
thought of singing of a poet — certainly not one of the great- 
est — I have not courage for that ; but I have thought on one 
of the least — on Dante ! ” 

“ Ay, ay,” returned Habbas Dahdah ; “ he will come out — 
and come out with Dante ! that will be a masterpiece ! — that 
will I gladly hear. But as all the cardinals will come, and 
strangers from all parts of the world, would it not be best to 
defer this piece of merriment till carnival time ? ” And with 
these words he went on ; but Bernardo was not to be put off 
in this way, and obtained permission from the other teachers. 

Every one now had his theme ; mine was the beauty of Italy. 

Each scholar was expected wholly to work out his subject 
himself ; but a sure way of winning over Habbas Dahdah, and 
diffusing a sort of sunshine over his bad weather countenance, 
was to give him a poem to read through, and to ask from him 
assistance and advice ; in that case, he commonly worked the 
whole poem over again, botched and mended it, so that it 
remained as bad as at first, only in a different way ; and, if it 
5 


66 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


SO happened that a stranger praised the poem, he would let 
fall the remark, that there were a few sparkles of his own wit 
which had polished away the rough, etc., etc. 

My poem on Dante, which was now Bernardo’s, he never 
saw. 

At length the day came. The carriages rolled up to the 
gate ; the old cardinals, in their red cloaks with long trains, 
came in, and took their places in the stately arm-chairs. 
Tickets, on which our names were inscribed, in the languages 
in which we were to write our poems, were handed about. 
Habbas Dahdah made the opening oration, and now followed 
poems in Syriac, Chaldaic, Coptic, nay, even in Sanskrit, 
English, and other strange tongues, — nay, the more outland- 
ish and odd the language sounded, the greater were the ap- 
plause and bravos, and clapping of hands, mingled with the 
heartiest laughter. 

With a beating heart I came forward, and spoke a few 
strophes of my ‘‘Italy.” Repeated acclamations saluted me ; 
the old cardinals clapped their hands in token of applause, 
and Habbas Dahdah smiled as kindly as it was possible for 
him to do, and moved prophetically the garland between his 
hands ; for, in Italian, Bernardo only followed me, and it was 
not to be imagined that the English poem which succeeded 
him would win any laurels. 

Now stepped Bernardo before the chair. My eye and ear 
followed him with uneasiness. Boldly and proudly he recited 
my poem on Dante ; a deep silence reigned in the hall. The 
wonderful force which he gave it seemed to seize upon every 
one. I knew every word of it ; but it sounded to me like the 
song of the poet when it is raised on the wings of music : the 
most unanimous applause was awarded to him. The cardinals 
arose — all was at an end ; the garland was given to Bernardo, 
for although, for order’s sake, the succeeding poem was lis- 
tened to, and received also its applause, people immediately 
afterwards turned again to the beauty and the spirit of the 
poem on Dante. 

My cheeks burned like fire, my breast heaved, I felt an in- 
finite, unspeakable happiness, my whole soul drank in the 
incense which was offered to Bernardo. I looked at him j he 


THE SENATOR'S NEPHEW, 


67 

was become quite other than I had ever seen him before. 
Pale as death, with his eyes riveted to the ground, he stood 
there like a criminal — he, who otherwise had looked so una- 
bashedly into every one’s face. Habbas Dahdah seemed just 
like a companion piece to him, and appeared ready to pluck 
the garland to pieces in his abstraction, when one of the car- 
dinals took it from him and placed it on the head of Bernardo, 
who bent his knee, and bowed his face into both his hands. 

After the festival I sought out Bernardo. To-morrow ! ” 
he exclaimed, and tore himself loose from me. 

On the following day, I observed that he shunned me ; and 
it grieved me, for my heart was infinitely attached to him ; 
it needed one trusty soul in this world, and it had selected 
him. 

Two evenings passed ; he then threw himself on my neck, 
pressed my hand, and said, Antonio, I must speak with 
you j I cannot bear it any longer, and will not, either. When 
they pressed the garland on my head, it was as if they had 
pressed in a thousand thorns. The acclamations sounded like 
jeering ! It was to you that the honor belonged ! I saw the 
joy in your eye, and, do you know, I hated you! you were to 
me no longer that which you had been. That is a wicked 
feeling, I pray you for forgiveness ; but we must now part, I 
am no longer at home here. I will hence, and not for the next 
year be the jest of the others when they find that I have not 
the stolen plumes. My uncle shall and must provide for me. 
I have told him so — I have besought it from him — I have 
done that which is repugnant to my nature ; and it seems to 
me as if you were the cause of it all ! I feel a bitterness 
towards you, which wounds me to the soul 1 We can only be 
friends under entirely new circumstances ! — and we will be 
so, promise me, Antonio } ” 

“You are unjust to me,” said I, “unjust to yourself! Do 
not let us think any more about that miserable poem, or any- 
thing connected with it. Give me your hand, Bernardo, and 
do not distress me with such strange talk.” 

“ We will always be friends,” said he, and left me. It was 
late in the evening before he came to his chamber ; and the 
next morning it was announced that he had left the school to 
follow another profession. 


68 


THE 2MFR0 VISA TORE. 


“ He is gone like a falling star,” observed Habbas Dahdah, 
ironically j he vanished as soon as one noticed the bright- 
ness ! The whole was a crack — and so was the poem, too. 
I shall manage, indeed, that this treasure is preserved ? 
Then, Holy Virgin ! when one looks closely at it, what is it ? 
Is it poetry, — that which runs in and out, without shape or 
consistency ? At first, I thought it was a vase, then a French 
wine-glass, or a Median sabre ; but, when I turned it and 
drew it, there came out the self-same unmeaning, cut and dried 
shape. In three places there is a foot too many ; there are 
horrible hiatuses ; and five-and-twenty times has he used the 
word ‘ divina,’ as if a poem became divine by the repetition of 
this word. Feeling, and feeling ! that is not all which makes 
the poet ! What a combating with fancies, — now one is 
here ! now one is there ! Neither is it thought, no, discretion, 
golden discretion ! The poet must not let himself be run 
away with by his subject. He must be cold — ice-cold, must 
rend to pieces the child of his heart, that he may understand 
every single portion of it ; it is only thus that a work of art can 
be put together. Not with all this driving and chasing, and 
all this wild inspiration ! And then they set a garland on 
such a lad ! Flogged he should have been for his historical 
errors, his hiatuses, his miserable work ! I have vexed my- 
self; and that does not suit my constitution ! The abominable 
Bernardo ! ” 

Such probably was Habbas Dahdah’s speech of praise. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


A WELCOME AND AN UNWELCOME MEETING. — THE LITTLE 
ABBESS. — THE OLD JEW. 

W E all missed the wild, willful Bernardo, and none 
missed him more than I did. It seemed to me as 
if all was empty and deserted around me : I could not enjoy 
my books ; there were dissonances in my soul which I could 
not even silence ; music alone brought a momentary harmony. 
In the tones of the world, my life and my whole endeavors first 
received clearness. Here I found more than any poet, than 
even Dante had expressed ; not merely the feelings compre- 
hended from the soul-breathing picture, but the sensitive part, 
the ear, drank in from living existence. Every evening, before 
the image of the Madonna on the wall, children’s voices sang 
to me remembrances from my own childhood, which sounded 
like a cradle-song from the melancholy bagpipe of the Piffe- 
rari. I heard, indeed, in them the monotonous song of the 
muffled corpse-bearers who carried the coffin of my mother. 
I began to think about the past and of that which was to 
come. My heart seemed so strangely to want room ; I felt 
as if I must sing; old melodies intoned within me, and the 
words came aloud from my lips ; yes, too much aloud, for 
they disturbed Habbas Dahdah, at several rooms’ distance, 
who sent to inform me that this was neither an opera-house 
nor a singing-school, and that there could be no quavering in 
the school of the Jesuits, excepting such as was in honor of 
the Virgin. Silently I laid my head against the window-frame 
and looked into the street, but with my thoughts introverted. 

‘‘ Felicissima notte, Antonio ! reached my ear. A hand- 

1 The inhabitants of the north wish each other “Good night; sleep 
well ! The Italians wish “ The happiest night ! ” The nights of the 
south have more than dreams. — Author's Note, 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


70 

some, proud horse was prancing under the window, and then 
sprang forward with his proud rider. It was a papal officer ; 
with youthful rapidity he bowed himself to his horse, waved 
his hand again and again till he was out of sight ; but I had 
recognized him — it was Bernardo, the fortunate Bernardo ! 
How different had his life been to mine ! No ! I could not 
think of it ! I drew my hat deeply over my brows, and, as if 
pursued by an evil spirit, hastened out, and forth wherever 
the wind would carry me. I thought not then how it was a 
regulation that no scholar in the Jesuits’ school. Propaganda, 
or any establishment of learning in the Papal States, should 
go out of the building without being accompanied by a fel- 
low-student of equal or superior age, and might never show 
themselves alone without an especial permission. Such a uni- 
versally known law as this was never inculcated upon us. I 
forgot that my freedom in this way was circumscribed, and 
from this cause went out quite calmly. The old custodian 
thought perhaps that I had obtained permission. 

The Corso was crowded with equipages. A succession of 
carriages, filled with the natives of Rome and strangers, fol- 
lowed each other ; they were taking their evening drive. Peo- 
ple stood in throngs around the print-sellers’ windows looking 
at the engravings, and beggars came up to them craving for a 
bajocco. It was difficult to make one’s way through, unless 
one would venture among the carriages. I had just slipped 
through in this manner, when a hand took fast hold of my 
dress, and I heard a well-known horrible voice whisper, “ Bon 
giorno, Antonio ! I looked down : there sat my uncle, the 
horrible Peppo, with the two withered legs fastened up to his 
sides, and with the wooden frame on which he shoved himself 
onwards. We had never been for many years so near to each 
other. I had always made great circuits to escape him — had 
avoided the Spanish Steps, where he sat : and when I had 
been obliged to pass by him in a procession, or with the other 
scholars, I had always used my utmost endeavors to conceal 
my face. 

“ Antonio, my own blood ! ” said he holding fast by my 
coat, “ dost thou not know thy own mother’s brother, Peppo ? 


AN UNWELCOME MEETING. 7I 

Think upon St. Joseph/ and then thou hast my name ! O, 
how manly and tall thou hast grown ! ” 

Release me ! exclaimed I, for the people around us looked 

on. 

“ Antonio ! ’’ said he, “ hast thou forgotten how we two 
rode together upon the little ass ? Thou sweet child ! Yes, 
now thou sittest upon a loftier horse, thou wilt not know thy 
poor uncle — wilt not come to me upon the steps. Yet thou 
hast kissed my hand, slept upon my poor straw. Don’t be 
ungrateful, Antonio ! ” 

Then let me go ! ” I cried, and tore the coat out of his 
hands, and, slipping between the intersecting carriages, came 
into a side street. My heart trembled for horror of — yes, 
what shall I call it ? — wounded pride. I fancied myself to be 
scorned by everybody who had seen us ; but this feeling pre- 
vailed only for a moment, and then gave place to another and 
a much more bitter one. Every word which he had said was 
indeed the truth ; I was really the only child of his sister. I 
felt that my behavior had been cruel ; was ashamed before 
God and myself ; it burned like fire in my heart. Had I now 
been alone with Peppo, I would have kissed his ugly hands, 
and prayed him for forgiveness. I was shaken to my inmost 
soul. 

At that moment, the bells of the Church of St. Agostino 
rang for the Ave Maria. My sin lay heavy upon my soul, and 
I went in, that I might pray to the Mother of God. All was 
empty and dark in the lofty building ; the lights upon the va- 
rious altars burned feebly and dreamily with beams, like tinder 
in the night when the damp sirocco blows. My soul drank in 
consolation and pardon. 

‘‘ Signore Antonio,” said a voice close to me, “ Excellenza 
is come and the handsome signora. They are here from 
Firenza, and have brought with them their little angel. Will 
not you come directly and pay your visit, and give your wel- 
come ? ” 

It was old Fenella, the wife of the porter at the Palazzo 
Borghese. My benefactress was here with her husband and 

1 Peppo is the Italian abbreviation of the name Giuseppe — Joseph. — 
Author's Note, 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


72 

child. I had not seen her for some years. My soul was full 
of joy ; I hastened there, and soon the old friendly faces 
greeted me again. 

Fabiani was gentle and gracious, Francesca glad as a mother 
to see me again. She brought to me her little daughter 
Flaminia, a kind-hearted child with wonderfully bright eyes. 
She put forth her mouth immediately for me to kiss, came 
willingly to me, and we were, in two minutes, old acquaint- 
ances and friends. She sat upon my arm, and laughed aloud 
for joy when I danced round the hall with her, and sang her 
one of my merry old songs. 

“Make not my little abbess^ a child of the world,’’ said 
Fabiani, smiling. “ Dost thou not see that she bears already 
the token of her honor ? ” He then showed to me a little 
silver crucifix, which hung by a cord upon the child’s breast. 
“ The holy father gave her this ; she bears already her soul- 
bridegroom upon her heart.” 

In the plenitude of their love, the young couple had vowed 
to the Church their first female child, and the Pope had be- 
stowed upon the little one in the cradle this holy sign. As a 
relation of the rich Borghese family, the highest place in the 
female convents of Rome was open to her ; and, therefore, 
with them and with all her connections she bore the honorable 
name of the Little Abbess. Every story, therefore, that was 
told her, and every sport, was calculated to fix her ideas 
on the world to which she peculiarly belonged, on the happi- 
ness which awaited her. 

She showed me her Jesus-child, her little white-garmented 
nuns, which went every day to mass, set them up in two rows 
at the table as the nurse had taught her, and told me how 
beautifully they sang and prayed to the Jesus-child. I drew 
for her merry peasants, who, in their long woolen cloaks, 
danced around the stone Tritons, and pulchinellos that sat 
upon one another’s shoulders ; and the new pictures unspeak- 
ably amused the little one. She kissed them many times, 

1 It is the custom in most of the Italian families, that when one of the 
daughters is destined to the convent from childhood, she bears one or 
other name of honor, indicative of her destination, as “ Jesus’ Bride,” 

the Nun,” ‘‘ the Abbess,” etc. — Author's Note, 


THE LITTLE ABBESS. 


73 

then tore them in her wantonness, and I must draw new ones, 
till the time when we must part, by the nurse coming to take 
her to bed, for her bedtime was long past. 

Fabiani and Francesca asked me about the Jesuit school, 
about my health, and whether I were contented, and promised 
to be always kind to me, and wished me the best fortune. 

‘‘ We must see you every day,” said they ; come very 
often whilst we are here.” 

They inquired also about old Domenica on the Campagna, 
and I told how happy she was whenever, though it was but 
seldom, in spring and autumn, I went to see her ; how she 
roasted chestnuts for me, and seemed to become young again 
in talking of the days which we had spent together ; and how 
I must every time see the little nook where I had slept, and 
the pictures which I had drawn, and which she preserved with 
her rosary and her old prayer-book. 

“ How queerly he bows ! ” said Francesca to Fabiani, as, 
in the evening, I bowed in taking leave. ‘‘ It is very excellent 
to cultivate the mind, but neither must the body be neglected ; 
so much is thought of that in the world ! But that will come, 
will it not, Antonio ? ” said she, smiling, and extended her 
hand for me to kiss. 

It was yet early in the evening when I again found myself 
in the street on my homeward way, but still it was pitch-dark. 
There were at that time no lamps in Rome ; they belong, as 
is well known, to the last few years. The lamps before the 
images of the Virgin were the only lights in the narrow, ill- 
paved streets. I was obliged to feel my way before me, that 
I might not stumble against anything ; and thus I went on 
slowly, occupied with the thoughts of the adventures of this 
afternoon. 

In going forward, I struck my hand against some object. 

“ The devil ! ” resounded from a well-known voice ; don’t 
knock out my eyes, for then I should see still less ! ” 

“ Bernardo ! ” I joyfully exclaimed ; ‘‘ have we met once 
more ? ” 

‘‘ Antonio ! my dear Antonio ! ” cried he, and caught me 
by the arm ; “ this is indeed a merry meeting. Where do you 
come from ? From some little adventure ? That I did not 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


74 

expect from you ; but you are caught in the path of darkness. 
But where is the slave corporal, the cicisbeo, or whatever you 
call your faithful companion ? 

I am quite alone,’’ said I. 

‘‘ Alone ? ” repeated he ; ‘‘ you are at bottom a fine fellow ; 
you should be in the papal guard : then, perhaps, we should 
make something out of you.” 

I related to him in a few words the arrival of Excellenza 
and Signora, and expressed my delight at this our meeting. 
Ilis pleasure was not less than mine. We thought not of the 
darkness around us, and talked as we went along, without 
thinking where or in what direction we went. 

Do you see, Antonio,” said he, “ I have only just now 
learned what life is : you know nothing about it. It is too gay 
a thing to sit there on the hard school-bench and listen to 
Habbas Dahdah’s mouldy harangues. I know how to man- 
age my horse — you saw me, perhaps, to-day ; and the hand- 
some signoras cast glances at me — O, such burning ones ! I 
am, to be sure, a very good-looking fellow, whom the uniform 
becomes ; in this cursed darkness here, you cannot see me ! 
My new comrades have led me out into the world ; they are 
not such recluses as you. We empty our glasses to the well- 
being of the state, and have also little adventures of which 
his holiness would not endure to hear. What a foolish fellow 
you are, Antonio ! I have had ten years’ experience in these 
few months. Now I feel my youth, it boils in my blood, it 
wells forth in my heart, and I enjoy it — enjoy it in copious 
draughts, whilst my lips burn, and this exciting thirst is 
unallayed.” 

Your companions are not good, Bernardo,” said I. 

“ Not good ! ” interrupted he ; “ don’t preach me any ser- 
mon ! What can you say about my goings on } My compan- 
ions are of the purest patrician blood that Rome possesses j 
we are the holy father’s guard of honor ; his blessing absolves 
our little sins. After I had left school, I too had some of 
these conventual notions about me, but I was wise enough 
not to let my new companions observe it ; I did as they 
did ; my flesh and blood, my whole proper I, thrilled with joy 
and life, and I followed this impulse because it was the 


THE OLD JEW. 


75 

strongest ; but I perceived at the same time a hateful, bad 
voice within me — it was the Propagandist convent breeding, 
and the last remains of good-childism, which said, ^ Thou art 
no longer innocent as a child ! ’ Since then I laugh at it, I 
understand it better. I am a man ! the child is shook off: it 
was that which cried when it could not have its way. But 
here we are really at the Chiavica, the best inn where artists 
assemble. Come in ; we must enjoy a bottle of wine together, 
for our happy meeting’s sake — come in ; it is merry within ! ” 

‘‘What are you thinking of.?” replied I. “ If they should 
know at the Jesuit school that I have been here with an 
officer of the papal guard ! ” 

“ Yes, that would be a great misfortune ! To drink a glass 
of wine, and to hear the foreign artists sing their songs in 
their native speech, German, French, English, and the Lord 
knows what tongues ! It’s a merry thing, you may think ! ” 

“ What may be suitable for you is forbidden to me ; do not 
talk to me about it, and ” — I interrupted myself, because 
I heard laughter and shouting from a little side street, and 
was desirous of turning the conversation to other subjects : 
“ there is such a crowd of people together — what can it be ? 
I think the sport goes on under the image of the Madonna ; ” 
and, so saying, I drew him towards it. 

Rude men and boys of the lowest class had closed up the 
street; they made a large circle around an old Jew, whom, as 
we found, they would compel to jump over a stick, which one 
of the fellows held, because he wished to go out of the street. 

It is well known that in Rome, the first city of Christen- 
dom, the Jews are only permitted to live in their allotted 
quarter, the narrow and dirty Ghetto, the gate of which is 
closed every evening, and soldiers keep watch that none may 
come in or go out. Once a year, the oldest amongst them are 
obliged to go to the Capitol, and, kneeling, pray for permis- 
sion to live yet one year longer in Rome ; which they obtain 
by binding themselves to bear the expenses of the carnival, 
and promising that all of them, once in the year, on an ap 
pointed day, shall go to a Catholic church and hear a sermon 
fi)r their conversion. 

The old man whom we here saw had come alone on this 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


76 

dark evening through the street, where the boys were pursuing 
their sport, and the men were playing at mora. 

Do you see the Jew ? ’’ one of them had said, and began to 
scoff at and ridicule the old man ; and then, as he pursued 
his way in silence, they closed up the street. One of the fel- 
lows, a thick, broad-shouldered man, held a long stick stretched 
out, and cried, Nay, Jew, take thy legs with thee, however ; 
they will shut Ghetto, thou wilt not get in to-night. Let us 
see how nimble thou art in the legs ! ’’ 

“Leap, Jew!’’ cried all the boys; “Abraham’s God will 
help thee 1 ” 

“ What harm have I done you ? ” said he. “ Let me, an 
old man, go on my own way, and make not a jest of my gray 
hair before her to whom you yourselves pray for pardon : ” and 
he pointed to the image of the Madonna just by. 

“ Dost thou think,” said the fellow, “ that Madonna troubles 
herself about a Jew ? Wilt thou jump, thou old hound ” and 
he now clenched his fist in his face, and the boys pressed in a 
closer circle around him. 

With this Bernardo sprang forth, pushed the nearest aside, 
snatched in an instant the stick out of the fellow’s hand, swung 
round his sword above him, held the stick which he had taken 
from him before him, and cried in a strong, manly voice, 
“Jump thou, or I will cleave thy head ! — delay not ! — by all 
the saints, I’ll split thy skull if thou do not jump over it ! ” 

The fellow stood as if all heaven had fallen amid the aston- 
ished crowd. The thundering words, the drawn sabre, the 
papal officer uniform, all electrified him, and, without replying 
one word, he gave a great spring over the stick, which he had 
just held before the poor Jew. The whole assembly appeared 
equally surprised ; no one ventured to say a word, but looked 
astonished by that which had happened. 

Scarcely had the fellow leapt over, than Bernardo seized him 
by the shoulder, and, striking him lightly on the cheek with 
the flat of his sabre, said, — 

“ Bravo, my hound ! well done ! Yet once more this trick, 
and then, I think, thou wilt have had enough of this dog’s 
play 1 ” 

The fellow was obliged to leap, and the people, who went 


THE OLD JEW, 77 

over to the merry side of the thing, cried “ Bravo ! and 
clapped their hands. 

Where art thou, Jew? asked Bernardo. Come, I will 
lead thee ! ’’ But nobody replied ; the Jew was gone. 

“ Come,’^ said I, when we were out of the crowd, — come, 
let them say what they may, I will drink a bottle of wine with 
you. I will drink your health. May we always be friends in 
whatever circumstances we may be ! ’’ 

“ You are a fool, Antonio ! replied he, “ and I also at 
bottom, to have vexed myself about the rude fellow. I think 
that he will not speedily be making anybody jump again.’’ 

We went into the hostel ; none of the lively guests observed 
us. There stood in a corner a little table, and here we bade 
them bring us a bottle ofj wine, and drank to our happy meet- 
ing and to the endurance of our friendship ; then we parted. 

I returned to the Jesuit school, where the old custodian, my 
particular friend, let me in unobserved of any one, and I was 
quickly asleep and dreaming of this evening’s many adven- 
tures. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE JEW MAIDEN. 

T hat I had been out for an evening without permission, 
nay, drunk wine also in an inn with Bernardo, troubled 
me afterwards ; but fortune favored me — nobody missed me, 
or, if they did, they supposed, like the old custodian, that I 
had received permission, for I was indeed considered to be 
the quietest and the most conscientious of the scholars. The 
days glided on smoothly for weeks ; I studied industriously, 
and visited in the mean time my noble benefactress : these vis- 
its were my highest recreation. The little abbess became 
dearer to me every day ; I took to her the pictures which I 
myself when a child had drawn, but when she had played 
some minutes with them they flew in many pieces about the 
floor ; these I collected and joined again for her. 

At that time I was reading Virgil. The sixth book, where 
the Cumaean sibyl conducts -^neas down to the lower regions, 
interested me greatly, for it bore a relationship to that of 
Dante. With this I thought of my poem, and that brought 
Bernardo vividly to my mind, whom I had not seen for so long 
a time. I longed for him. This was precisely on one of those 
days in the week on which the gallery of the Vatican stood 
open to the public. I obtained leave of absence to go and 
see the glorious marble gods and the beautiful pictures ; but 
that which I particularly wished for was to meet with my dear 
Bernardo. 

I was already in the great open colonnade where the most 
beautiful bust of Raphael stands, and where the whole ceiling 
is covered with exquisite pictures from the Bible, drawn by 
this great master and finished by his scholars. The strange 
arabesques on the walls, the legions of angels, which are either 
kneeling in every arch or spreading forth their great wings 


THE JEW MAIDEN, 


79 

towards the Infinite, were not new to me ; yet I lingered here 
a long time, as if contemplating them, but waiting in reality 
for any lucky chance which might bring Bernardo there. I 
leaned over the balustrade of masonry, and contemplated the 
magnificent range of mountains, the proud line of the waves 
beyond the Campagna, but my eye at the same time looked 
down into the court of the Vatican to see if it were not Ber- 
nardo whenever I heard a sword ring up the broad flag-stones : 
but he came not. 

In vain I wandered through the arcades, visited the Nile- 
group and the Laocoon, — all my looking was only folly, and 
I grew out of humor. Bernardo was not to be discovered, 
and, therefore, my homeward way seemed to me about as in- 
teresting as the Torso and the splendid Antinous. 

Now skipped a light figure in helmet and with ringing spurs 
along the passage, and I after it ; it was Bernardo. His joy 
was not less than mine ; he drew me hastily along with him, 
for he had, he said, a thousand things to tell me. 

“ You do not know what I have suffered and still suffer ! 
You shall be my doctor — you alone can help me to the mag- 
ical plants.’^ 

With these words he led me through the great hall, where 
the papal Swiss kept guard, into a large room fitted up for the 
accommodation of the officer on duty. 

But you are not ill } ” I inquired, — you cannot be so ! 
Your eyes and your cheeks burn with the glow of life.” 

“ O yes, they burn,” said he. “ I burn from head to foot 3 
but it is all right ! You are my star of luck — you bring with 
you charming adventures and good ideas. You must help ! — 
sit down. You do not know how much I have lived through 
since that evening which we two spent together. But I will 
confide all to you — you are an honest friend, and must have 
a share in the adventure.” 

He would not allow me to speak ; I must hear that which 
excited him so much. 

“ Do you remember the Jew — the old Jew whom the fel- 
low would force to leap over the stick, and who hurried away 
without thanking me for my knightly help ? I soon had for- 
gotten him and the whole history. A few days afterwards 


8o 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


chance led me past the entrance into the Ghetto ; I did not 
observe it until the soldier who had his post at the gate pre- 
sented arms, because I now belong to the people of rank. I 
returned his greeting, and saw with that a handsome crowd of 
black-eyed girls of the Hebrew race just within the gate, and 
so, as you may imagine, I was possessed with the desire to go 
down through the narrow, dirty street. It was a whole syna- 
gogue within ; houses jostling one against another high into 
the air ; from every window was heard ‘ Bereschit Bara 
Elohim ! ^ head to head, just as if they were going to pass 
over the Red Sea. Round about hung old clothes, umbrellas, 
and such like Rag-Fair goods. I skipped among iron-wares, 
pictures, and dirt, of course, and heard what a buzzing and 
screaming there was whether I would not trade, sell, or buy ; 
they would hardly let me have time to notice a pair of black- 
eyed, beautiful children, which laughed at me from the door. 
It was such a wandering, you may trust me, as Dante might 
have described. All at once an old Jew fell upon me, bowed 
himself down before me as if I had been the holy father. 

‘ Excellenza,’ said he, — ^ my noble deliverer — the savior 
of my life, blessed be the hour in which I saw you ! Think 
not that old Hanock is ungrateful ! ’ and much more which I 
did not understand and cannot now remember. I now recog- 
nized him ; it was the old Hebrew who should have taken the 
leap. 

“ ‘ Here is my poor house,’ continued he, ^ but the threshold 
is too humble for me to pray you to cross it ; ’ and with this 
he kissed my hands and my dress. I wished to get away, for 
the whole neighborhood was gazing upon us ; but just then I 
cast my eyes upwards to the house, and I saw the most beau- 
tiful head that I ever had seen — a marble Venus with warm 
blood in her cheeks, and eyes like the daughters of Arabia. 
Thus you can very well conceive that I followed the old Jew 
in — he had, indeed, invited me. The passage was truly as 
narrow and dark as if it had led into the grave of the Scipios, 
and the stone steps, and the handsome wooden gallery — yes, 
they were, in particular, formed to teach people stability in 
walking, and circumspection to the extremest finger-point. In 
the room itself it did not seem so much amiss, only the girl 


THE JEW MAIDEN. 


8i 


was not there ; and what did I want to see besides ? I had 
now to sit and listen to a long speech of gratitude, in which 
the multitude of eastern figures of speech would certainly have 
charmed your poetical turn of mind. I let it go on, thinking 
to myself ‘ she will come at last ! ’ but she came not. In the 
mean time the Jew started an idea which, under other circum- 
stances, would have been very good. He imagined that I, as 
a young man who was living in the world, should want money, 
but yet, at the same time, have no superabundance of it ; 
that I had need occasionally to fly to compassionate souls, 
who, at from twenty to thirty per cent., showed their Christian 
love, but that he (and it is a miracle in the Jewish kingdom) 
would lend to me without any percentage at all. Do you hear ? 
— with no percentage! — I was a noble young man — he 
would trust himself to my honesty 1 I had protected a twig of 
the stem of Israel, and not a splinter of this should rend my 
clothing 1 

“ As I was not in need of any money, I did not take any ; 
so he then besought me to condescend to taste his wine — the 
only bottle which he possessed. I know not what reply I 
made, but this I know, that the loveliest girl of oriental de- 
scent entered. There were form and color — hair shining and 
jet-black as ebony. She presented to me excellent wine of 
Cyprus, and that kingly blood of the line of Solomon crim- 
soned her cheeks as I emptied a glass to her happiness. You 
should have heard her speak — heard her thank me for her 
father, which, indeed, it was not worth the trouble. It sounded 
like music in my ears — it was no earthly being 1 She then 
vanished again, and only the old man remained.’’ 

“ The whole is just like a poem ! ” I exclaimed, — “ it could 
be beautifully put into verse.” 

“You do not know,” continued he, “how I have since tor- 
mented myself — how I have formed schemes in my head, and 
then pulled them down again, for meeting again with my 
daughter of Zion. Only think, I went down there to borrow 
money which I did not want ; I borrowed twenty silver scudi 
for eight days, but I did not get to see her. I took them un- 
changed back again to him on the third day, and the old man 
smiled and rubbed his hands, for he had not actually so en- 
6 


82 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


tirely relied upon my boasted honesty. I praised his wine of 
Cyprus, but she brought me none ; he himself presented it 
with his thin, trembling hands. My eyes peered into every 
corner — she was nowhere. I saw her not, only as I went 
down the steps it seemed to me that a curtain in an open win- 
dow moved ; it might be she. 

^ Adieu, signora,’ I exclaimed, but all was still as a wall — 
nothing showed itself. I have advanced no further in my 
adventure — give me counsel. To give her up I cannot, and 
will not ! What shall I do ? Strike out a brilliant idea, my 
heart’s youth ! Be to me a Juno and Venus, who led ^neas 
and Libya’s daughter together into the lonely grotto.” 

What will you have me to do } I do not comprehend how-. 
I can do anything here.” 

“ You can do everything, whatever you will. The Hebrew 
is really a beautiful language, a poetical picture-world ; you 
shall study it, and take a Jew for your teacher; I will pay for 
the lessons. Do you have the old Hanoch, for I have dis- 
covered that he belongs to the learned portion in Ghetto. 
When your true-hearted manner has won him, then you can 
make the acquaintance of his daughter, and then you must 
bring me in also, but at full gallop — at full, flying gallop. I 
have burning poison in my blood — the burning poison of 
love. You must go to-day to the Jew.” 

That I cannot,” I replied ; you do not take into con- 
sideration my circumstances — what a part I should have to 
play ; and how can you, dear Bernardo, demean yourself so as 
to have a love-affair with a Jew girl ?” 

‘‘O, that you do not understand ! ” interrupted he ; Jew- 
girl or not has nothing to do with it, if she is only good for 
anything! Now, thou beloved youth, my own excellent An- 
tonio, set about studying Hebrew — we will both of us study 
it, only in different ways. Be reasonable, and think how very 
much you hereby promote my happiness.” 

‘Wou know,” I said, ‘‘ how sincerely with my whole soul 
I am attached to you, — you know how your preponderating 
force seizes upon my thoughts and my whole will. If you 
were angry, you could destroy me ! — I should be forced into 
your magic circle. I judge not your views in life by my own ; 


THE JEW MAIDEN, 


83 

every one must follow his own nature. Neither do I consider 
ehe mode by which you would seize on pleasure to be sinful, 
for that is according to your cast of mind. I am quite dif- 
ferent ; do not over-persuade me into an undertaking which, 
even if it turned out favorably, could not tend to your happi- 
ness.” 

‘‘ Good — good ! ” said he, interrupting me ; and I saw the 
distant, proud glance with which he so often had regarded 
Habbas Dahdah, when he, from his position, was the deciding 
party ; ‘‘good, Antonio, it is nothing but a jest, the whole of it. 
You shall not have to do penance on my account. But where 
would have been the harm of your learning a little Hebrew, 
and that from my Jew, I cannot comprehend. But not a word 
about it ! — thanks for your visit ! Will you eat ? — will you 
drink ? Here they are at your service.” 

I was dumb ; the tone in which he spoke, his whole man- 
ner, showed that he was offended. Icy coldness and formal 
politeness met the warm pressure of my hand. Troubled and 
out of spirits, I hastened home. 

I felt that he was unjust — that I had acted as was my duty 
to do ; and yet there were moments in which it seemed as if I 
had acted unkindly to him. In one of these combats with 
myself I went through the Jews’ quarter, hoping that my for- 
tunate star would conduct me to some adventure which should 
turn out to the benefit of my dear Bernardo. But I did not 
once see the old Jew; unknown faces looked out from doors 
and windows, dirty children lay upon the steps among all sort 
of old trash of iron and clothes, and the eternal shouting of 
whether I would not buy or sell almost deafened me. Some 
young girls were playing at shuttlecock, from window to win- 
dow, across the street. One of these was very handsome ; 
could it be Bernardo’s beloved.^ I involuntarily took my 
hat, but the next moment, ashamed of doing so, I stroked 
my head with my hand, as it if had been on account of the 
warmth, and not of the girls, that I uncovered my head. 


CHAPTER X. 


A YEAR LATER. — THE ROMAN CARNIVAL. — THE SINGER- 

I F I must uninterruptedly follow the thread which connects 
together Bernardo’s love and my ramble through Ghetto, 
I must pass over two whole years of my life ; but these years 
had in their daily progress onward much more for me than the 
making me twice twelve months older. It was a sort of in- 
terlude in the drama of my life. 

I seldom saw Bernardo, and when we did meet he was just 
the same merry-hearted, bold young acquaintance as ever, 
but confidential as before he never seemed to be ; the cold, 
well-bred air betrayed itself from under the mask of friend- 
ship ; it troubled and depressed me, and I had not the cour- 
age to ask how it had gone with his love affair. 

I very often went to the Borghese Palace, and found with 
Excellenza, Fabiani, and Francesca, a true home, yet often, 
also, found occasion for deep pain. My soul was filled with 
gratitude to every one of them for all which I had received 
from them, and, therefore, any grave look from them cast a 
shade upon my life’s happiness. Francesca commended my 
good qualities, but wished now to perfect me. My carriage, my 
mode of expressing myself, she criticised, and that with severity 
— certainly with great severity — so much so as to bring tears 
to my eyes, although I was a tall youth of eighteen. The old 
Excellenza, who had taken me from Domenica’s hut to his 
magnificent home, was also just as cordially kind to me as at 
the first time when we met ; but he, too, pursued the signora’s 
mode of education with me. I did not take the same interest 
as himself in plants and strange flowers, and this he con- 
sidered as a want of taste for that which was solid ; he 
thought that I was too much occupied by my own peculiar in- 
dividuality — I did not come sufficiently out of myself — did 


A YEAR LATER, 85 

not let the radius of the mind intersect the great circle of the 
world. 

“ Reflect, my son,” said he, that the leaf which is rolled 
up in itself withers.” 

But after every warm conversation that he had with me he 
patted me again upon the cheek, and consoled me by iron- 
ically saying that we lived in a bad world, and we must every 
one of us be pressed like dried flowers, if the Madonna were 
to have handsome specimens of us. Fabiani looked at every- 
thing on the cheerful side, laughed at both of their well-meant 
lectures, whilst he assured them that I never should become 
learned like Excellenza, nor piquant like Francesca, but that 
I should be of a third character, which also belonged to life, 
and which was not to be despised either. And then he called 
for his little abbess, and with her I soon forgot all my small 
troubles. 

The family intended to pass the following year in the north 
of Italy ; the warm summer months they would spend at 
Genoa, and the winter in Milan. By me, also, at the same 
time a great step was to be taken ; I was to enter by a sort of 
examination into the rank of abbe, and thus gain a higher 
position in life than I had hitherto possessed. 

Before the departure of the family a great ball was given in 
the Borghese Palace, to which I also was invited. Pitch gar- 
lands burned before the house, and all the torches which were 
borne before the carriages of the guests were stuck into iron 
arms upon the wall, so that this seemed like a complete cas- 
cade of fire. Papal soldiers were stationed at the gates. The 
little garden was decorated with bright-colored paper lamps ; 
the marble steps were magnificently lighted, and upon every 
step, beside the wall, stood vases filled with flowers or small 
orange-trees, which diffused their fragrance around. Soldiers 
leaned their shoulders against the doors. There was a throng 
of richly dressed servants. 

Francesca was splendidly beautiful ; the costly bird-of-para- 
dise head-dress which she wore, and her white satin dress 
with its rich lace, became her most exquisitely, but that she 
extended to me her hand — yes, that I thought the most beau- 
tiful of all ! In two halls, in each of which was a full orches- 
tra, floated the dancers. 


86 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


Among these was Bernardo, and he was handsome , the 
scarlet, gold-embroidered uniform, the narrow, white breeches, 
all fitted as if but a part of the noble figure ; he danced 
with the most lovely women, and they smiled confidingly 
and tenderly upon him. ' That which vexed me was that I 
could not dance ; neither did anybody take any notice of me. 
In my own home it seemed to me that I was the greatest 
stranger among strangers. But Bernardo offered me his hand, 
and all my ill-humor was again gone. 

Behind the long red curtains, by the open window, we drank 
together the foaming champagne ; he clinked his glass famil- 
iarly against mine. Beautiful melodies streamed through the 
ear into our hearts, and every thought of a friendship less 
warm than in former days was extinguished. I ventured to 
mention even the handsome Jewish maiden; he laughed, and 
seemed quite cured of his deep wound. 

“ I have found another little golden bird,’’ said he, w^hich 
is tamer, and has sung away my whim. We will therefore let 
the other fly ; and it is gone indeed, has escaped away out of 
the Jews’ quarter — nay, even out of Rome, if I am to believe 
my people ! ” 

Once more we joined glasses ; the champagne and the en- 
livening music infused twofold life into our blood. Bernardo 
again was in the midst of the dance ; I stood alone there, but 
that great sea of happiness was in my soul which makes one 
right glad to embrace the whole world. Down in the street 
below shouted the poor lads, as they saw the sparks fly from 
the pitch garlands ; I thought upon my own poor childhood, 
when I also had played like them, and now stood, as if at 
home in the splendid ball-room, among the first families of 
Rome. Thanks and love to the Mother of God, who had led 
me so tenderly forward in the world, filled my whole soul ; I 
bent my knees in adoration, and the long thick curtains hid 
me from the eyes of all. I was infinitely happy ! 

The night was over ; yet two days more, and the whole 
family left Rome. Habbas Dahdah impressed upon me every 
hour what this year was to bring me — the name and the dig- 
nity of an abbe. I studied industriously, scarcely ever saw 
Bernardo, or any other acquaintance. Weeks extended them- 


A YEAR LATER, 


87 

selves into months, and these brought on the day in which, 
after close examination, I was to assume the black dress and 
the short silk cloak. 

All within me sung victoria. The lofty pines, and newly 
sprung-up anemones, the crier in the streets, and the light 
cloud which floated through the blue air ! 

With the short silk cloak of the abbe, I had become a new 
and happier person. Francesca had sent me a bill of a hun- 
dred scudi, for my necessities and my pleasure. In my delight 
I hastened up the Spanish Steps, threw a silver scudi to Uncle 
Peppo, and hastened away, without hearing more from him 
than his “ Excellenza, Excellenza Antonio ! ’’ 

It was in the first days of February, the almond-tree blos- 
somed, the orange-trees became more and more yellow, the 
merry carnival was at hand, as if it were a festival to celebrate 
my adoption into the rank of abbe ; heralds on horseback, 
with trumpets and splendid velvet banners, had already an- 
nounced its approach. Never before had I yet wholly en- 
joyed its delights, never given myself wholly up to that spirit 
of the time, The madder the merrier ! ’’ 

When I was a little child, my mother feared that I should 
get hurt in the crowd, and I obtained only momentary 
glimpses of the whole merriment, as she stood with me in 
some safe corner of the street. As a scholar in the Jesuits’ 
school, I had seen it in the same manner when permission was 
given to me, with some of the other scholars, to stand upon 
the flat roof of the. side-buildings of the Doria Palace ; but 
now to be able by myself to wander about from one end of 
the street to the other, to mount the Capitol, to go to Traste- 
vere, — in short, to go and to be just wherever I myself 
wished, was a thing hardly to have been thought of How 
natural was it then that I should throw myself into the wild 
stream and delight myself with everything just like a child ! 
Least of all did I think that the most serious adventure of my 
life was now to begin ; that an occurrence, which had once 
occupied me so vividly and so entirely, the lost seed-^orn, for- 
gotten and out of sight, should now show itself again like a 
green fragrant plant, which had wound itself firmly around 
my own life’s tree. 


88 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


The carnival was all my thought. I went early in the 
morning to the Piazza del Popolo that I might see the prepar- 
ations for the races, walked in the evening up and down the 
Corso, to notice the gay carnival-dresses which were hung out, 
figures wnth masks and in full costume. I hired the dress of 
an advocate, as being one of the merriest characters, and 
scarcely slept through the whole night that I might think over 
and regularly study my part. 

The next day seemed to me like a holy festival ; I was as 
happy as a child ! All round about in the side-streets the 
comfit-sellers set up their booths and tables, and displayed 
their gay wares. ^ The Corso was swept, and gay carpets were 
hung out from all the windows. About three o’clock, accord- 
ing to the French mode of reckoning time, I went to the 
Capitol, to enjoy, for the first time, the beginning of the festi- 
val. The balconies were filled with foreigners of rank ; the 
senator sat in purple upon a throne of velvet ; pretty little 
pages, with feathers in their velvet caps, stood on the left, be- 
fore the papal Swiss guard. Then came in a crowd of the 
most aged Jews, who kneeled down, bare-headed, before the 
senator. I knew one of them ; it was Hanoch, the old Jew, 
whose daughter had so greatly interested Bernardo. 

The old man was the speaker, made a sort of oration, in 
which he prayed, according to old usage, for permission for 
himself and his people to live yet a year longer in Rome, in 
the quarter which was appointed to them ; promised to go 
once during that time into a Catholic church ; and prayed 
furthermore that, according to old custom, they might them- 
selves run through the Corso before the people of Rome, 
might pay all the expenses of the horse-racing, together with 
the offered prize-money, and might provide the gay velvet 
banners. The senator gave a gracious nod (the old custom 
of setting the foot upon the shoulder of the supplicant was 
done away with), rose up amid a flourish of music in proces- 
sion, and, descending the steps, entered his magnificent car- 

1 These comfits are small red and white plaster of Paris balls, as large 
as peas ; sometimes also they are grains of corn rolled in a paste of 
plaster of Paris. During the carnival, people throw them in each other^s 
faces. — Authors Note. 


THE ROMAN CARNIVAL. 


89 

riage, in which the pages also had a place ; and thus was the 
carnival opened. The great bell of the Capitol rang for glad- 
ness, and I sped home quickly that I might instantly assume 
my advocate’s dress. In this it seemed to me that I was quite 
another person. 

With a kind of self-satisfaction I hastened down into the 
street where a throng of masks already saluted me. They 
were poor working people, who on these days acted like the 
richest nobility ; their whole finery was the most original, and 
at the same time the cheapest in the world. They wore over 
their ordinary dress a coarse shirt stuck all over with lemon 
peel, which was to represent great buttons ; a bunch of green 
salad on their shoulders and shoes ; a wig of fennel ; and 
great spectacles cut out of orange peel. 

I threatened them all with actions at law, showed them in 
my book of laws the regulations which forbade such luxurious- 
ness in dress as theirs, and then, applauded by them all, has- 
tened away to the long Corso, which was changed from a 
street into a masquerade hall. From all the windows, and 
round all the balconies and boxes erected for the occasion, 
were hung bright-colored carpets. All the way along, by the 
house sides, stood an infinite number of chairs, “ excellent 
places to see from,” as those declared who had them to let. 
Carriages followed carriages, for the greatest part filled with 
masks, in two long rows — the one up, the other down. Some 
of these had even their wheels covered with laurel twigs, the 
whole seeming like a moving pleasure-house ; and amid these 
thronged the merry human crowd. All windows were filled 
with spectators. Handsome Roman women, in the dress of 
officers, with the moustachio over the delicate mouth, threw 
comfits down to their acquaintance. I made a speech to 
them, summoning them before the tribunal, because they 
threw, not only comfits into the faces, but fire-glances also 
into the heart \ they cast down flowers upon me, as a reward 
for my speech. 

I met with a decked-out little old woman, attended by her 
cicisbeo ; the way was blocked up to us for a few moments by 
a contest among a crowd of Pulchinellos, and the good lady 
was obliged to listen to my eloquence. 


90 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


^‘Signora/’ said I, “do you call that keeping your vow? 
Is this maintaining the Roman Catholic customs as you ought 
to do ? Ah, where now is Lucretia, the wife of Tarquinius 
Colatinus ? For this do you and many other women of Rome 
send out their respectable husbands in the carnival time, and 
let them go i?i exercitia with the monks of Trastevere. You 
promise to lead a quiet, God-fearing life in your house, and 
your husbands mortify their flesh in the time of merriment, 
and pray and labor night and day within the walls of the con- 
vent. Thus you get free play, and flirt about with your gal- 
lants on the Corso and about Festino ! Ay, signora, I sum- 
mon you before the tribunal, according to the sixteenth clause 
of the twenty-seventh law.’’ 

An emphatic blow with her fan on my face was my answer, 
the real cause of which was, we may suppose, that I had, 
quite innocently, hit upon the truth. 

“ Are you mad, Antonio ? ” whispered her conductor to me, 
and both made their escape among sbirri, Greeks, and shep- 
herdesses. By those few words I had recognized him : it was 
Bernardo. But who could the lady be ? 

“ Luogi, Luogi I Patroni ! ” cried those who had chairs to 
let. I was bewildered in my thoughts ; but yet who will think 
on a carnival’s day ? A crowd of harlequins, with little bells 
on their shoulders and shoes, danced around me, and a new 
advocate upon stilts, the height of a man, strode in above us. 
As if he recognized a collegian in me, he joked about the 
humble position in which I stood, and assured them that it 
was only he alone who could win any cause, for upon the 
earth, to which I was stuck fast, there was no justice — it was 
to be found only above ; and then pointed into the higher, 
pure air in which he stood, and stalked on further. 

On the Piazza Colonna was a band of music. The merry 
doctors and shepherdesses danced joyously around, even in 
the midst of the single troop of soldiers, which to preserve 
order mechanically walked up and down the street among the 
carriages and the throng of human beings. Here I again 
began a profound speech, but there came up a writer, and 
.Fen it was all over with me, for his attendant, who ran before 
him with a great bell, jingled it so before my ears that I could 


THE ROMAN CARNIVAL. 


9 ^ 

not even hear my own words ; at that moment also was heard 
the cannon-shot, which was the signal that all carriages rnust 
leave the streets, and that the carnival was at an end for this 
day. 

I obtained a stand upon a wooden scaffolding. Below me 
moved the crowd, without allowing itself to be disturbed by 
the soldiers, who warned them to make way for the horses, 
that would soon pass at a wild speed through the street, where 
no causeway made a determined path. 

At the end of the street, by the Piazza del Popolo, the 
horses were led up to the barrier. They all seemed half wild. 
Burning sponges were fastened to their backs, little rockets 
behind their ears, and iron points hanging loose, which in the 
race spurred them till the blood came, were secured to their 
sides. The grooms could scarcely hold them. The cannon 
was fired. The rope before the barrier fell, and now they flew 
like a storm-wind past me up the Corso. The tinsel glittered ; 
their manes and the gaudy ribbons floated in the air ; sparks 
of fire flew from their hoofs. The whole mass of people cried 
after them, and, at the same moment in which they had passed, 
streamed out again into the open mid-path, like the waves 
which close again after the ship’s keel. 

The festival was at an end for the day. I hastened home 
to take off my dress, and found in my room Bernardo, who 
was waiting for me. 

‘‘You here!” I exclaimed; “and your donna, where, in 
all the world, have you left her ? ” 

“ Hush I ” said he, and threatened me jestingly with his 
finger ; “ do not let that come to an affair of honor between 
us 1 Yet how could you get the whimsical idea of just saying 
what you did say ? — but we will give absolution and show 
mercy. You must go with me this evening to the Theatre 
Aliberto ; the opera of “ Dido ” is given there to-night. 
There will be divine music ; many beauties of the first rank 
will be there ; and, besides, there is a foreign singer, who 
takes the principal character, and who has set the whole of 
Naples in fire and flame. She has a voice, an expression, a 
carriage, such as we have no idea of ; and then she is beauti- 
ful, very beautiful, they say. You must take a pencil with 


92 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


you, for, if she answer only half the description I have heard 
of her, she will inspire you to write her the most beautiful 
sonnet ! I have kept the last bouquet of violets from the car- 
nival to offer her, in case she should enchant me ! ’’ 

I was willing to accompany him — I wished to drink up 
every drop of the merry carnival. It was an important even- 
ing for us both. In my “ Diario Romano^^ also, this 3d of 
February stands doubly underlined. Bernardo had reasons 
that it should be so in his. 

It was in the Theatre Aliberto, the first opera-house in 
Rome, that we were to see the new singer as Dido* The mag- 
nificent ceiling, with the hovering Muses ; the curtain, on 
which is portrayed the whole of Olympus, and the golden 
arabesques in the boxes, were then all new. The entire house, 
from the floor to the fifth row, was filled ; in every box burned 
lights in the lamps ; the whole blazed like a sea of light. Ber- 
nardo directed my eyes to every new beauty who entered her 
box, and said a thousand wicked things about the plain 
ones. 

The overture began. It was the exposition-scene of the 
piece in music. The wild tempest raged on the sea and drove 
-^neas on the coast of Libya. The horror of the storm died 
away in pious hymns, which ascended in triumph, and in the 
soft tones of the flute a dream-like feeling stole over me of 
Dido’s awakening love — a feeling which I myself had not 
known till then. The hunting-horns sounded, the storm arose 
again, and I entered with the lovers into the secret grotto, 
where all intoned of love, the strong, tumultuous passion, 
which burst into a deep dissonance ; and with this the curtain 
rose. 

^neas is about to go, to conquer the Hesperian kingdom 
for Ascanius, to leave Dido, who received the stranger, who 
sacrificed for him her honor and her happiness. But as yet 
she knows it not ; “ but quickly will the dream vanish,” said 
he, “ soon, when the hosts of Teucer, like the black swarms 
of ants laden with booty, advance to the shore.” 

Now came forth Dido. As soon as she showed herself upon 
the boards, a deep silence spread itself over the house ; her 
whole appearance — her queenly and yet easy, charming car- 


THE SINGER. 


93 

riage seized upon all — me also ; and yet she was not such a 
one as I had imagined Dido to be. She stood there, a deli- 
cate, graceful creature, infinitely beautiful and intellectual, as 
only Raphael can represent woman. Black as ebony lay her 
hair upon the exquisite, arched forehead ; the dark eye was 
full of expression. A loud outbreak of applause was heard ; 
it was to Beauty, and Beauty alone, that the homage was 
given, for as yet she had sung not a note. I saw plainly a 
crimson pass over her brow ; she bowed to the admiring 
crowd, who now followed with deep silence her beautiful ac- 
centuation of the recitative. 

“ Antonio,” said Bernardo half aloud to me, and seized my 
arm, “ it is she ! I must have lost my senses, or it is she — 
my flown bird! Yes, yes, I cannot be wrong; the voice also 
is hers ; I remember it only too well 1 ” 

“ Who do you mean ? ” I inquired. 

“The Jewish maiden from Ghetto,” replied he ; “and yet 
it seems impossible ; she cannot really be the same ! ” 

He was silent and lost himself in the contemplation of the 
wonderfully lovely, sylph-like being. She sang the happiness 
of her love ; it was a heart which breathed forth, in melody, 
the deep, pure emotion which, upon the wings of melodious 
sounds, escapes from the human breast. A strange sadness 
seized upon my soul ; it was as if those tones would call up 
in me the deepest earthly remembrances ; I also was about to 
exclaim, with Bernardo, It is she 1 — yes, she whom I for 
these many years had not thought or dreamed of stood now 
with wonderful vividness before me — she with whom I, as a 
child, had preached at Christmas, in the church Ara Coeli ; 
that singularly delicate little girl, with the remarkably sweet 
voice, who had won the prize from me. I thought of her, 
and the more I saw and heard this evening the more firmly 
was it impressed on my mind, “ it is she — she, and no 
other 1 ” 

When afterwards, .^neas announces to her that he will go 
— that they are not married — that he knows not of their 
nuptial torch, how astoundingly did she express all that which 
passed in her soul — astonishment, pain, rage ; and, when she 
sang her great aria, it was as if the waves of the deep had 


THE IMPROVISATORE 


94 

struck against the clouds. How, indeed, shall I desciibe the 
world of melody which she revealed ? My thoughts sought for 
an outward image for these tones, which seemed not to ascend 
from a human breast, and I saw a swan breathing out its life 
in song, whilst it now cut, with outspread pinions, the wide 
ethereal space, now descended into the deep sea, and clave 
the billows only again to ascend. A universal burst of accla- 
mation resounded through the house. ‘‘ Annunciata ! Annun- 
ciata ! ’’ cried they ; and she was obliged again, and yet again, 
to present herself to the enraptured crowd. 

And yet this aria was not at all equal to the duet in the 
second act, in which she prays AEneas not immediately to go, 
not thus to forsake her — who for his sake had disgraced the 
race of Libya, the princes of Africa, her virginity and duty. 

I sent no ships against Troy ! I disturbed not the manes of 
Anchises and his ashes ! ’’ There was a truth, a pain in the 
whole of her expression, which filled my eyes with tears ; and 
the deep silence which reigned around showed that every 
heart felt the same. 

AEneas left her, and now she stood for a moment cold and 
pale as marble, like a Niobe. But quickly boiled the blood 
in her veins ; it was no longer Dido — the warm, the loving 
Dido — the forsaken wife — it was a Fury. The beautiful 
features breathed forth poison and death. Annunciata knew 
so completely how to change her whole expression, to call up 
the icy shudder of horror, that one was compelled to breathe 
and to suffer with her. 

Leonardo da Vinci has painted a Medusa’s head, which is 
in the gallery at Florence. Every one who sees it is strangely 
captivated by it, and cannot tear himself away. It is as 
if the deep, out of froth and poison, had formed the most 
beautiful shape — as if the foam of the abyss had fashioned 
a Medician Venus. The look, the expression of the mouth 
even, breathe forth death. Thus stood Dido now before us. 

We saw the funeral pile which her sister Anna had erected ; 
the court was hung with black garlands and night-shade ; in 
the far distance sped the bark of ^neas over the agitated 
sea. Dido stood with the weapons which he had forgotten \ 
her song sounded deep and heavy, and then again ascended 


THE SINGER, 


95 

into power and strength, like the lamentation of the fallen 
angels. The funeral pile was lighted; her heart broke in 
melody. 

Like a tempest burst forth the applause : the curtain fell. 
We were all out of ourselves with admiration of the glorious 
actress, her beauty, and her indescribably exquisite voice. 

“ Annunciata ! Annunciata ! rang from the pit and all the 
boxes ; the curtain rose, and she stood there, bashful and 
charming, with eyes full of love and gentleness. Flowers 
rained down around her ; ladies waved their white pocket- 
handkerchiefs, and the gentlemen, enraptured, repeated her 
name. The curtain fell, but the acclamation seemed only the 
more to increase ; she again made her appearance, and with 
her the singer who had performed the part of ^neas ; but 
again and again they shouted, “ Annunciata ! She appeared 
with the whole corps who had contributed to her triumph ; but 
yet once more they stormed forth her name ; and for the 
fourth time she now came forth, quite alone, and thanked 
them, in a few cordial words, for the rich encouragement 
which they had given to her efforts. I had written a few lines 
in my excitement on a piece of paper, and these, amid flow- 
ers and garlands, flew to her feet. 

The curtain did not rise again ; but still again and again 
resounded her name ; people could not weary of seeing her, 
could not weary of paying her homage. Yet once more was 
she obliged to come forth from the side of the curtain ; pass 
along before the lamps, and send kisses and thanks to the 
exultant crowd. Delight beamed from her eyes ; there was 
an indescribable joy in her whole look ; it was certainly the 
nappiest moment of her life. And was it not also the hap- 
piest of mine ? I shared in her delight as well as in the ac- 
clamation of the others ; my eye, my whole soul imbibed her 
sweet image ; I saw only, thought only, Annunciata. 

The crowd left the theatre ; I was carried away with the 
stream which bore onward to the corner where the carriage 
of the singer stood ; I was pushed to the wall, for all wished 
yet once more to see her. All took off their hats and shouted 
her name. I spoke her name also, but my heart swelled 
Strangely the while. Bernardo had pressed forward to the 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


96 

carriage, and opened the door for her. I saw that in a mo- 
ment the horses would be taken out, and that the enthusiastic 
young men would themselves draw her home. She spoke, 
and besought of them, with a trembling voice, not to do so ; 
but only her name in the most exultant shout sounded through 
the street. Bernardo mounted on the step, as the carriage 
was set in motion, in order to compose her, and I seized hold 
of the pole, and felt myself as happy as the rest. The whole 
thing was too soon over, like a beautiful dream. 

It was a happiness to me now to stand beside Bernardo j 
he had actually talked with her — had been quite close to 
hei ! 

Now what do you say, Antonio ? cried he. “ Is not your 
heart in a commotion ? If you do not glow through marrow 
and bone, you are not worthy to be called a man ! Don’t you 
now see how you stood in your own light when I wanted to 
take you to her ; and would it not have been worth while to 
have learned Hebrew, to have sat on the same bench with 
such a creature? Yes, Antonio, however incomprehensible it 
may seem, I have not any doubt but that she is my Jewish 
maiden ! She it was whom, a year ago, I saw with old 
Hanoch ; she it was who presented to me Cyprus wine, and 
then vanished. I have her again ; she is here, and like a glori- 
ous phoenix ascended from her nest, that hateful Ghetto ! ” 

“ It is impossible, Bernardo,” I replied ; ‘‘ she has also 
awoke remembrances in me, which make it impossible that 
she can be a Jewess ; most assuredly is she one of the only 
blessed church. Had you observed her as closely as I have 
done, you would have seen that hers is not a Jewish form ; 
that those features bear not the Cain’s mark of that unhappy, 
despised nation. Her speech itself, her accent, come not 
from Jewish lips. O Bernardo, I feel so happy, so inspired by 
the .world of melody which she has infused into my soul! 
But what did she say? You have actually talked with her, 
stood close by her carriage ; was she right happy, as happy 
as she has made us all ? ” 

“ You are regularly inspired, Antonio ! ” interrupted he. 
“ Now melts the ice of the Jesuit school ! What did she talk 
about? Yes, she was frightened, and yet she was proud that 


THE SINGER. 


97 

you wild cubs drew her through the streets. She held her 
veil tight over her face, and pressed herself into the corner of 
the carriage ; I composed her, and said everything that my 
heart could have said to the Queen of Beauty and Innocence ; 
but she would not even take my hand when I would have 
helped her out I” 

“ But how could you be so bold ! She did not know you. I 
should never have ventured on such audacity.” 

“Yes, you know nothing of the world — nothing of women. 
She has observed me, and that always is something.” 

I now read him my impromptu to her ; he thought it was 
divine, and declared that it must be printed in the “ Diario di 
Roma.” We drank together her health. Every one in the 
coffee-house talked of her ; every one, like us, was inexhaus- 
tible in her praise. It was late when I parted from Bernardo ; 
I hastened home, but sleep was not to be thought of. It was 
to me a delight to go over the whole opera in my own mind ; 
Annunciata’s first appearance ; the aria, the duet, the closing 
scene, which seized so strangely on the souls of all. In my 
rapture I spoke forth my applause aloud, and called her name. 
Then in thought I went through my little poem, wrote it down, 
and thought it pretty ; read • it a few times to myself ; and, if 
I must be candid, my love to her was almost increased by the 
poem. Now, many years afterwards, I see it with very differ- 
ent eyes. I then thought it a little masterpiece. She certainly 
took it up I thought, and now she sits half undressed upon 
the soft silken sofa, supports her cheek upon her beautiful 
arm, and reads that which I breathed upon paper : — 

“ My soul went with thee, trembling and unshriven, 

On that proud track where only Dante stays ; 

In music, through the depths and up to heaven, 

Thy song has led me and thy seraph-gaze ! 

What Dante’s power from stony words hath wrung, 

Deep in my soul hast thou in music sung ! ” 

I knew no spiritual world more rich and beautiful than that 
in Dante’s poem, but this now, it seemed to me, revealed itself 
in a higher vitality, and with much greater clearness than 
before. Her melting song, her look, the pain and the despair 

X 


9 8 THE IMPRO VISA TORE, 

which she had represented, had most completely been given 
in the spirit of Dante. She must think my poem beautiful ! 
I imagined her thoughts, her desire to know the author, and I 
almost fancy that, before I went to sleep, I was, with all my 
maginings about her, still most occupied with myself and my 
wn little insignificant poem. 


CHAPTER XL 


BERNARDO AS DEUS EX MACHINA. — “ LA PRUOVA d’uN OPERA 
SERIA.’^ — MY FIRST IMPROVISATION. — THE LAST DAYS OF 
THE CARNIVAL. 

HE next forenoon I saw nothing of Bernardo ; in vain I 



X sought for him. Many were the times that I went across 
the Piazza Colonna, not to contemplate the pillar of Antoninus, 
but to see, if it were only the sleeve of Annunciata, for she 
lived there. There were visitors with her, the lucky people ! 
I heard a piano ; I listened, but no Annunciata sung ; a deep 
bass voice gave forth some tones ; certainly it was the mas- 
ter of the musical chapel, or one of the singers in her com- 
pany — what an enviable lot ! Were one only in the place of 
him who acted ^neas with her ! thus to look into her eyes, 
drink in her looks of love, travel with her from city to city, 
gaining admiration and renown ! I was quite lost in the 
thought. Harlequins with shells, pulchinellos and magicians 
danced around. I had quite forgotten that it was carnival 
time, and that it was even now the hour when the sports began 
for to-day. 

The whole gaudy crowd, the noise and the screams, made 
an unpleasant impression upon me. Carriages drove past ; 
almost all the drivers were dressed as ladies, but it looked to 
me horrible ; those black whiskers under womens’ caps ; the 
vigorous movements, all were painted to me in frightful colors, 
nay, were detestable, as it seemed to me. I did not feel my- 
self, like as yesterday, given up to mirth. I was about to 
depart, and now, for the last time, cast a glance at the house 
in which Annunciata lived, when Bernardo rushed from the 
door towards me, and, laughing, exclaimed : — 

“ Come along, man, and don’t stand staring there ! I will 


lOO 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


introduce you to Annunciata ; she expects you already. Look 
you, is not this a piece of friendship in me ? 

‘‘ She ! ’’ I stammered, the blood seeming to boil in my 
ears, ‘‘she! don’t make any sport of me! Where will’ you 
take me ? ” 

“ To her, of whom you have sung,” he replied — “ to her, 
about whom you and I and everybody are raving — to the 
divine Annunciata ! ” 

And, so saying, he drew me into the door with him. 

“ But explain to me how you got here yourself — how you 
can introduce me here.” 

“ Presently, presently, you shalf know all that,” replied he ; 
“ now call up a cheerful face.” 

“ But my dress,” I stammered, and tried hastily to arrange it. 

“ O, you are handsome, my friend ! perfectly charming ! See 
now, then, we are at the door.” 

It opened, and I stood before Annunciata. She wore a 
black silk dress of the richest material, which fell in ample 
folds around her, whilst its simple, unadorned style, showed 
the exquisite bust and the sweep of the delicate shoulders to 
the greatest advantage ; the black hair was put back from the 
noble, lofty forehead, upon which was placed a black ornament, 
which seemed to me to be an antique stone. At some, dis- 
tance from her, and towards the window, sat an old woman in 
a dark brown, somewhat worn dress, whose eyes, and the whole 
form of whose countenance, said, at the first glance, that she 
was a Jewess. I thought upon Bernardo’s assertion that An- 
nunciata and the beauty of Ghetto were the same person ; 
but this was impossible, said I again in my heart, when I 
looked at Annunciata. A gentleman, also, whom I did not 
know, was in the room ; he rose, and she rose also, and came 
towards me, half smiling, as Bernardo led me in, and said, 
jestingly, — 

“ My gracious signora, I have here the honor to present the 
poet, my friend, the excellent Abbe Antonio, a favorite of the 
Borghese family.” 

“ Signor will forgive,” said she ; “ but it is in truth no fault 
of mine that my acquaintance is thrust upon you, however de- 
sirable yours may be to me I You have honored me with a 


BERNARDO AS DEUS EX MACHINA. lOI 

poem,” she continued, and crimsoned ; ^^your friend mentioned 
you as the author, begged to introduce you to me, when sud- 
denly he saw you in the street, and said, ‘ Now you shall see 
him instantly,’ and was gone before I could reply or prevent — 
that is his way ; but you know your friend better than I do.” 

Bernardo knew how to make a joke of it, and I stammered 
out a few words about my good fortune, my joy at being intro- 
duced to her. 

My cheeks glowed ; she extended her hands to me, and in 
my rapture I pressed them to my lips. She introduced the 
stranger gentleman to me ; it was the chapel-master, or com- 
pany’s leader of the band. The old lady, whom she called 
her foster-mother, looked gravely, almost sternly, at Bernardo 
and me, but I soon forgot that in Annunciata’s friendship and 
gay humor. 

The chapel-master expressed himself as obliged by my poem, 
and, offering me his hand, invited me to write opera-text for 
him, and to begin at once. 

“ Do not listen to him,” interrupted Annunciata ‘‘ you do 
not know into what misery he will plunge you. Composers 
think nothing of their victims, and the public still less. You 
will this evening, in La Pruova d’un Opera Seria,” see a 
good picture of a poor author ; and yet this is not painted 
sufficiently strong.” 

The composer wished to make some exception ; Annunciata 
smiled, and turned herself to me. 

‘‘You write a piece,” she said ; “ infuse your whole soul into 
its exquisite verse. Unities, characters, all have been well 
considered : but now comes the composer ; he has an idea 
that must be brought in ; yours must be put aside : here he 
will have fifes and drums, and you must dance after them. 
The prima donna says that she will not sing unless you bring 
in an aria for a brilliant exit. She understand the furiose 
maestoso^ and whether it succeed or not the author must answer 
for it. The prima tenor makes the same demands. You must 
fly from the prima to the tertia donna, to the bass and tenor, 
must bow, flatter, endure all that our humors can inflict ; and 
that is not a little.” 

The chapel-master wished to interrupt her ; but Annunciata 
noticed it not, and continued • — 


102 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


‘‘Then comes the director, weighing, measuring, throwing 
away ; and you must be his most humble servant, even in folly 
and stupidity. The mechanist assures you that the strength 
of the theatre will not bear this arrangement, this decoration ; 
that they cannot have it new painted : thus you must alter this 
and that in the piece, which is called, in theatrical language, 
‘ to mend.’ The theatrical painter does not permit that this 
sea-piece should be brought out in his new decoration : this, 
like the rest, must also be mended. Then the signora cannot 
make a roulade on the syllable with which one of the verses 
ends : she will have one that ends with an let it come from 
where it may. You must mend yourself, and mend your text ; 
and if so be that the whole, like a new creation, comes on the 
stage, you may have the pleasure of having it hissed, and the 
composer exclaim, ‘ Ah, it is that miserable text which has 
ruined the whole ! The pinions of my melody could not sus- 
tain the colossus : it must fall ! ’ ” 

Merrily came up the sound of music to us from below. The 
carnival maskers came buzzing over the square, and through 
the streets. A loud acclamation mingled itself with the clap- 
ping of hands, and called us all to the open window. To be 
now so near Annunciata, to see my heart’s wish so suddenly 
fulfilled, made me unspeakably happy ; and the carnival 
seemed to me as merry as it did yesterday, when I played 
my part in it. 

About fifty pulchinellos had assembled under the window, 
and had chosen their king, who mounted a little car, hung 
over with gaudy flags, and garlands of laurels and orange 
peel, which waved about as if they had been ribbons and lace. 
The king ascended into the car. They set upon his head a 
crown made of gilded and brightly painted eggs, and gave to 
him, as a sceptre, a gigantic child’s rattle, covered with maca- 
roons. All danced around him, and he nodded graciously on 
all sides ; then they harnessed themselves to his carriage, to 
drag him through the streets. At that moment, his eye fell 
on Annunciata ; he recognized her, nodded familiarly to her, 
and said, as he was drawn along, “Yesterday, thee: to-day, 
me ! Pure Roman blood before the chariot ! ” 

I saw Annunciata become crimson and step back \ but in a 


BERNARDO AS DEUS EX MACHINA. 103 

moment, recovering herself, she bent forward over the bal- 
cony, and said to him aloud, Enjoy thy good fortune ! Thou 
art unworthy of it, like me ! 

They had seen her, heard her words, and her reply. A 
“ vivat ! ” resounded through the air, and bouquets of flowers 
flew up around her. One of them struck her shoulder, and 
flew into my bosom. I pressed it close : it was to me a treas- 
ure which I would not have lost. 

Bernardo was indignant at what he called the pulchinellos’ 
audacity, and wished to go down immediately and chastise the 
fellows ; but the chapel-master, as well as the rest, prevented 
him, and treated the whole as a jest. 

The servant announced the first tenor-singer ; he brought 
with him an abbe and a foreign artist, who desired to be 
introduced to Annunciata. The next moment came fresh vis- 
itors, foreign artists, who introduced themselves, and brought 
her their homage. We were altogether a large part3^ They 
spoke of the merry Festino the last evening, at the Theatre 
Argentina ; of the various artist masks that represented the 
celebrated statues Apollo Musagetes, the Gladiators, and the 
Discus-throwers. The only one who took no part in the con- 
versation was the old lady whom I took for a Jewess : she sat 
silent, busied over her stocking, and nodded very slightly when 
Annunciata several times during the conversation turned to 
her. 

Yet how different was Annunciata from the being which my 
soul had imagined her, as I saw and heard her the evening 
before. In her person she seemed to be a life-enjoying, al- 
most willful being : and yet this suited her indescribably well, 
and attracted me wonderfully. She knew how to fascinate 
me and every one with her easy, sportive remarks, and the 
sensible, witty manner in which she expressed herself. 

Suddenly she looked at her watch, sprang up hastily, and 
excused herself, saying that her toilet awaited her ; that she 
was that evening to appear in “ La Pruova d’un Opera Seria.’* 
With a friendly nod of the head, she vanished into a side- 
room. 

“ How happy you have made me, Bernardo ! ’’ I exclaimed 
aloud to him, when we were scarcely out of the houae-door, 


104 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


How lovely she is, lovely as in song and acting ! But how, 
in all the world, did you get admitted to her ? — how so sud- 
denly make her acquaintance ? I cannot understand it : it all 
seems to me a dream, even that I myself have been near to 
her ! 

‘‘ How did I get admitted ? ’’ replied he. Oh, quite sim- 
ply ! I considered it my duty as one of the young nobility of 
Rome, and as one of his holiness’s guard of honor, and as 
an admirer of all beauty, to go and pay my respects. Love 
did not require one half of these reasons. It was thus 
that I introduced myself; and that I could introduce myself 
equally well as those whom you yourself saw arrive without 
announcer or keeper needs no doubt whatever. When I am 
in love, I am always interesting ; and thus you can very well 
see that I should be very amusing. We all had become, after 
the first half hour, so well acquainted with each other, that I 
could very well bring you in, as soon as I saw you.” 

‘Wou love her ? ” I inquired, “ love her right honestly ? ” 

‘‘Yes, more than ever!” exclaimed he; “and what I told 
you, of her being the girl who gave me wine at the old Jew’s, 
I have now no doubt about. She recognized me, when I 
stepped before her, — I saw that plainly ; even the old Jew 
mother, who did not say a word, but only sat and beat time 
with her head, and lost her knitting-needle, is to me a Solo- 
mon’s seal to the truth of my conjecture. Yet Annunciata is 
not a Jewess. It was her dark hair — her dark eyes — the 
circumstances and the place where I saw her first, which mis- 
led me. Your own picture is more correct ; she is of our 
faith, and shall enter into our Paradise.” 

In the evening, we were to meet at the theatre. The crowd 
was great. In vain I looked for Bernardo ; he was not to be 
seen. I found one place : all around me was thronged ; the 
heat was heavy and oppressive. My blood was already be- 
ibrehand in a strange, feverish agitation ; I seemed half to 
have dreamed the last two days’ adventures. No piece could 
be less calculated to give an equilibrium to my agitated mind 
than that which had now begun. 

The farce “ La Pruova d’un Opera Seria” is, as is well known, 
the fruit of the most wanton, fantastical humor, scarcely any 


PRUOVA nUN OPERA SERIAP 105 

connecting thread goes through the whole. Poet and com- 
poser have had no other intention than to excite laughter, and 
to give the singers opportunity of shining. There is here a 
passionate, whimsical prima donna, and a composer who plays 
in the same spirit, together with caprice on caprice of the other 
theatrical people, that strange race, which must be managed in 
their own way, probably as poison, which can both kill and 
cure. The poor poet skips about among them, like a lightly 
esteemed victim. 

Shouts and garlands of flowers greeted Annunciata. The 
humor, the liveliness which she showed, was called the high- 
est art. I called it nature. It was exactly thus that she had 
been at home ; and now, when she sung, it was as if a thou- 
sand silver bells were ringing the changes of a delicious har- 
mony, which infused that gladness into every heart which 
beamed from her eyes. 

The duet between her and il compositore della musica^ in 
which they change parts, she singing that of the man, and he 
that of the lady, was a triumph to them both as performers ; 
but in particular was every one captivated by her transitions 
from the deepest counter-tenor to the highest soprano. In 
her light, graceful dancing she resembled Terpsichore upon 
the Etruscan vase ; every motion might have been a study for 
a painter or a sculptor. The whole graceful animation seemed 
to me a development of her own individuality, with which I 
had to day become acquainted. The personation of Dido 
was to me artistic study : her “ prima donna ’’ this evening 
was a realization of the most complete actuality. 

Without having particular relation to the piece, there are 
great bravura-arias introduced into it from other operas. By 
the archness with which she sang these, all was evidently 
natural : it was willfulness and love of fun that excited her to 
these magnificent representations. 

At the close of the piece, the composer declares that every 
thing was excellent, and that now the overture may begin ; he 
therefore distributes the music to the actual orchestra. The 
prima donna assists him ; the sign is given, and both of them 
join in with the most horrible ear and heart rending disso- 
nances, clapping their hands, and shouting, Bravo ! bravo ! 


.06 


THE IMPRO VISA"! ORE. 


in which the public join them. Laughter almost overpowers 
the music ; but I was captivated to my very soul, and felt my 
self half faint with exultation. 

Annunciata was a wild, willful child, but most lovable in 
her willfulness. Her song burst forth like the wild dithyrambics 
of the bacchantes ; even in gayety I could not follow her: her 
willfulness was spiritual, beautiful, and great ; and as I looked 
at her, I could not but think on Guido Reni‘s glorious ceiling- 
painting of Aurora, where the Hours dance before the chariot 
of the Sun. One of these has a wonderful resemblance to 
the portrait of Beatrice Cenci, but, as one must see, in the 
gayest time of her life. This expression I found again in 
Annunciata. Had I been a sculptor, I should have designed 
her in marble, and the world would have called the statue In- 
nocent Joy. 

Higher and yet higher, in wild dissonances, stormed the or- 
chestra ; the composer and prima donna accompanied them, 

Glorious ! ” they now exclaimed, “ the overture is at an end ; 
let the curtain rise ! ” And so it falls, and the farce was ended \ 
but, as on the preceding night, Annunciata must again come 
forth, and garlands, and flowers, and poems, with fluttering 
ribbons, flew towards her. 

Several young men of my age, some of whom I knew, had 
arranged that night to give her a serenade ; I was to be one 
of them. It was an age since I had sung. 

An hour after the play, when she had arrived at home, our 
little band advanced to the Piazza Colonna. The musicians 
were stationed under the balcony, where we still saw light be- 
hind the long curtains. My whole soul was in agitation. I 
thought only on her. My song mingled itself fearlessly with 
others ; I sung also a solo-aria. I felt all that which I 
breathed forth. Everything in the world passed away from 
me. My voice had a power, a softness which I had never 
imagined before. My companions could not restrain a faint 
bravo, but yet suflicient to make me attentive to my own song. 
A wondrous joy stole into my soul ; I felt the god which 
moved within me, and, when Annunciata showed herself upon 
the balcony, bowed deeply, and thanked us, — it seemed to me 
that it was alone with reference to me. I heard my voice dis* 


MY FIJ^ST IMPROVISATION. IO7 

tinctly above that of the others, and it seemed like the soul 
of the great harmony. I returned home in a whirl of en- 
thusiasm ; my vain mind dreamed only of Annunciata’s de- 
light in my singing. I had indeed astonished myself. 

The next day I paid her a visit, and found Bernardo and 
several acquaintances with her. She was in raptures with the 
delicious tenor voice which she had heard in the serenade. I 
crimsoned deeply. One of the persons present suggested that 
I might be the singer ; on which she drew me to the piano, 
and desired that I would sing a duet with her. I stood there 
like one about to be condemned, and assured them that it was 
impossible to me. They besought me, and Bernardo scolded 
because I thus deprived them of the pleasure of hearing the 
signora. She took me by the hand, and I was a captive bird ; 
it mattered but little that I fluttered my wings, I must sing. 
The duet was one with which I was acquainted. Annunciata 
struck up and raised her voice. With a tremulous tone I be- 
gan my adagio. Her eye rested upon me as if she would say, 
Courage ! courage ! follow me into my world of melody ! 
and I thought and dreamed only on this and Annunciata. My 
fear vanished, and I boldly ended the song. A storm of ap- 
plause saluted us both, and even the old silent woman nodded 
to me kindly. 

“ My good fellow^,” whispered Bernardo to me, “you have 
amazed me ! and then he told them all that I possessed yet 
another gift equally glorious — I was an Improvisatore also, 
and that I must delight them by giving them a proof of it. 
My whole soul was in excitement. Flattered on account of 
my singing, and tolerably secure of my own power, there 
needed only that Annunciata should express the wish for me, 
for the first time, as a youth, to have boldness enough to im- 
provise. 

I seized her guitar ; she gave me the word “ Immortality.” 
I rapidly thought over the rich subject, struck a few chords, 
and then began my poem as it was born in my soul. My 
genius led me over the sulphur-blue Mediterranean to the 
wildly fertile valleys of Greece. Athens lay in ruins ; the 
wild fig-tree grew above the broken capitals, and the spirit 
heaved a sigh ; then onwards to the days of Pericles, when a 


io8 


TH& IMPROVISATORE. 


rejoicing crowd was in motion under the proud arches. It was 
the festival of beauty ; women, enchanting as Lais, danced with 
garlands through the streets, and poets sang aloud that beauty 
and joy should never pass away. But now every noble daugh- 
ter of beauty is dust mingled with dust, the forms forgotten 
which had enchanted a happy generation ; and, whilst my 
genius wept over the ruins of Athens, there arose before me 
from the earth glorious images, created by the hand of the 
sculptor, mighty goddesses slumbering in marble raiment ; 
and my genius recognized the daughters of Athens, beautifully 
exalted to divinity, which the white marble preserves for future 
generations. “ Immortality,’’ sang my genius, is beauty, but 
not earthly power and strength ; ” and wafting itself across the 
sea to Italy, to the city of the world, it gazed silently from the 
remains of the Capitol over ancient Rome. The Tiber whirled 
along its yellow waters, and where Horatius Codes once com- 
bated, boats now pass along, laden with wood and oil, for 
Ostia. Where Curtius sprang from the Forum into the flaming 
gulf, the cattle now lie down in the tall grass. Augustus and 
Titus ! proud names, which noAv the ruined temple and arch 
alone commemorate ! Rome’s eagle, the mighty bird of Ju- 
piter, is dead in its nest. Rome, where is thy immortality ! 
There flashed the eye of the eagle. Excommunication goes 
forth over ascending Europe. The overturned throne of 
Rome was the chair of St. Peter ; and kings came as barefoot 
pilgrims to the holy city — Rome, mistress of the world ! But 
in the flight of centuries was heard the toll of death — death 
to all that the hand can seize upon, that the human eye can 
dis(j«2rn ! But can the sword of St. Peter really rust ? The 
eagle flies forth from the east to the west. Can the power of 
the Church decline ? Can the impossible happen ? Rome 
still stands proudly in her ruins with the gods of antiquity and 
her holy pictures which rule the world by eternal art. To thy 
mount, O Rome ! will the sons of Europe come as pilgrims 
forever ; from the east and from the west, from the cold north 
will they come hither, and in their hearts acknowledge, — 
“ Rome, thy power is immortal ! ” 

The most vehement applause saluted me as I concluded 
this stanza. Annunciata alone moved not a hand, but, silen^ 


MV FIRST IMPROVISATION. 


109 


and beautiful as an image of Venus, she looked into my eyes 
with a confiding glance, the silent language of a full heart, 
and again words flowed from my lips in easy verses, the off- 
spring of the moment’s inspiration. 

From the great theatre of the world, I went to a more con- 
fined scene, and described the fair artiste., who, with her acting 
and her singing, attracted to her all hearts. Annunciata cast 
down her eyes — for it was she of whom I thought — she, who 
could not but be recognized in the description which I gave. 

And,” continued I, when the last tone has died away, the 
curtain fallen, and even the roar of applause is over, then also 
her beautiful labor is dead, and, as a beautiful corpse, lies in 
the bosom of the spectators. But a poet’s heart is like the 
grave of the Madonna ; all becomes flowers and odor ; the 
dead ascend from it more beautiful, and his mighty song in- 
tones for her — ‘ Immortality ! ’ ” 

My eye rested on Annunciata ; my thoughts had found 
words ; I bowed low, and all surrounded me with thanks and 
flattering words. 

‘‘You have given me the sincerest pleasure,” said Annun- 
ciata, and looked confidingly into my eyes. I ventured to 
kiss her hand. 

My poetic power had excited in her a higher interest for 
me. She discovered already that which I myself perceived 
only afterwards, that my love for her had misled me in placing 
her art, and she who exercised it, within the range of immor- 
tality, which it could never reach. Dramatic art is like a rain- 
bow, a heavenly splendor, a bridge between heaven and earth \ 
it is admired, and then vanishes with all its colors. 

I visited her daily. The few carnival days were over, flown 
like a dream ; but I enjoyed them thoroughly, for with Annun- 
ciata I drank in large draughts of life-enjoyment, such as I 
never had known before. 

“You are really beginning to be a man!” said Bernardo, 
“ a man like the rest of us, and yet you have only sipped of 
the cup. I dare swear now that you never gave a girl a kiss 
— never rested your head on her shoulder I Suppose now 
that Annunciata loved you ? ” 

“ What are you thinking of ? ” I replied, half angry ; and 


no 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


the blood burned in my cheeks. Annunciata, that glorious 
woman that stands so high above me ! 

‘‘Yes, my friend, high or low, she is a woman, and you are 
a poet, of whose mutual relationship no one can form a judg- 
ment. If the poet have the first place in a heart, he is pos- 
sessed also of the key which can lock the beloved in.’^ 

“ It is admiration for her which fills my soul \ I worship her 
loveliness, her understanding, and the art of which she is a 
votd.YY. Love her ? the thought has never entered my mind.’^ 

“ How grave and solemn ! ’’ interrupted Bernardo, laughing. 
“You are not in love! no, that is true indeed. You are one 
of those intellectual amphibious creatures that one cannot tell 
whether they rightly belong to the living or the dream-world 
— you are not in love, not, at least, in the same way as I am, 
not in the same w^ay as everybody else — you say so your- 
self, and I will credit you ; but still you may be so in your own 
particular way. You should not let your blood mount to your 
cheeks when she speaks to you, should not cast those signifi- 
cant fiery glances at her. I counsel you thus for her sake. 
What do you think others must think of it ? But, in the 
mean time, she goes away the day after to-morrow, and who 
knows whether she may come back again after Easter, as she 
has promised.’^ 

For five long weeks Annunciata was about to leave us. She 
was engaged for the theatre at Florence, and the journey was 
fixed for the first day in Lent. 

“ Then she will have a new troop of adorers ! said Ber- 
nardo. “ The old ones will be soon forgotten , yes, even your 
beautiful improvisation, for the sake of which she casts such 
loving looks at you, that one is regularly shocked. But he is 
a fool who thinks only of one woman 1 They are all ours I — 
the field is full of fiowers ; one can gather everywhere.’’ 

In the evening we were together at the theatre ; it was the 
last time of Annunciata’s appearance before her journey. We 
saw her again as Dido, and in acting and singing she stood as 
high as at the first time ; higher she could not be — it was the 
perfection of art. She was again to me the pure ideal which 
I had that evening conceived. The gay humor, the playful 
petulance which she had shown in the farcical opera, and even 


THE LAST DA YS OF THE CARNIVAL, 


I I I 


in life, seemed to me a gaudy world-dress which she put on ; 
it became her very well ; but in Dido she exhibited her whole 
soul, her peculiar and spiritual identity. Rapture and ap- 
plause saluted her ; greater it could hardly have been when 
the enthusiastic Roman people greeted Caesar and Titus. 

With the honest thanks of an agitated heart she spoke her 
farewell to us all, and promised soon to return. Bravo ! 
resounded from the overflowing house. Again and again they 
demanded to see her ; and, in triumph, as at the first time, 
they drew her carriage through the streets j I was among the 
first of them ! Bernardo shouted as enthusiastically as I, as 
we took hold on the carriage, in which Annunciata smiled, 
happy as a noble heart could be. 

The next day was the last of the carnival, and the last which 
Annunciata had now to spend in Rome. ^ I went to pay my 
farewell visit. She was very much affected at the homage 
which had been paid to her talent, and delighted herself in 
the thought of returning here after Easter, although Florence, 
with its beautiful country, and its glorious picture-gallery, was 
to her a beloved place of abode. In a few words she gave me 
so vivid a picture of the city and its neighborhood, that I dis- 
tinctly saw the whole ; the wooded Apennines scattered over 
the villas ; the Piazza del gran Duca, and all the old magnifi- 
cent palaces. 

I shall see again the glorious gallery,” said she, “where 
my love for sculpture was first excited, and where I perceived 
first the greatness of the human soul, which was able, like a 
Prometheus, to breathe life into the dead ! Would that I at 
this moment could lead you into one of the rooms, the least of 
them all, but to me the dearest, the very remembrance of which 
makes me happy. In that little octagon room hang only select 
masterpieces ; but all fade before one marble living figure, the 
Medicean Venus ! Never did I see such a living expression 
in stone. The marble eye, otherwise without the power of 
sight, lives here ! The artist has so formed it, that by the 
help of light it seems to see, to look into our very souls ; it is 
the goddess herself, born of the ocean-foam, that stands before 
us. Upon the wall behind the statue hang two magnificent 
pic.hires of Venus, by Titian; they are, in life and coloring, 


I 12 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


the goddess of beauty, but only earthly beauty — rich, luxU' 
rious beauty ; the marble goddess is heavenly ! Raphaehs 
Fornarina, and the superhuman Madonnas, excite my mind 
and my heart ; but I always turn back again to the Venus ; it 
stands before me, not like an image, but full of light and life, 
looking into my soul with her marble eyes ! I know no statue, 
no group, which speaks to me thus ; no, not even the Lao- 
coon, although the marble seems to sigh with pain. The 
Apollo of the Vatican, which you certainly know, alone seems 
to me a worthy companion piece. The power and intellectual 
greatness which the sculptor has given to the poet-god, is ex- 
hibited with more feminine nobility in the goddess of beauty.” 

“ I know the glorious statue in plaster of Paris,” replied I. 

I have seen good copies in paste.” 

But nothing can be more imperfect,” she said. The dead 
plaster gives a dead expression. The marble gives life and 
soul ; in it the stone becomes flesh ; it is as if the blood 
flowed beneath the fine skin. I would that you were going 
with me to Florence, that you might admire and worship. I 
would be your guide there as you shall be mine in Rome, if 
I come back again.” 

I bowed low, and felt happy and flattered by her wish. 

We shall see you next after Easter ? ” 

“Yes, at the illumination of St. PeteFs and the girondola,” 
replied she. “ In the mean time think kindly on me, as I, in 
the gallery at Florence, will often remember you, and wish that 
you were there, and looking at that treasure ! That is always 
the way with me whenever I see anything beautiful — I long 
for my friends, and wish that they were with me to participate 
in my pleasure. That is my kind of homesickness.” 

She extended to me her hand, which I kissed, and ventured 
to say, half in jest, “Will you convey my kiss to the Medicean 
Venus ? ” 

“ Then it does not belong to me ? ” said Annunciata. 
“ Well, I will honestly take care of it ; ” and with this she 
nodded to me most kindly, and thanked me for the happy 
hours which I had caused her with my singing and improvisa- 
tion. 

“We shall see one another again,” said she; and, like a 
dreamer I left the room. 


THE LAST DA YS OF THE CARNIVAL. I I 3 

Outside the door I met the old lady, who saluted me more 
kindly than common ; and in my excited state of mind I 
kissed her hand. She slapped me gently on the shoulder, and 
I heard her say, He is a good creature ! ” I was now in the 
street, happy in the friendship of Annunciata, and enraptured 
with her mind and her beauty. 

I felt myself in the right humor to enjoy this last day of 
the carnival. I could not imagine to myself that Annunciata 
was about to leave Rome, our leave-taking had seemed so 
easy ; I could not but think that our meeting again must be 
on the morrow. All unmasked as I was, I took the liveliest 
part in the combat of comfits. Every chair through the whole 
length of the streets was occupied ; every balcony and window 
was full of people ; carriages drove up and down, and the gay 
throng of human beings, like a billowy stream, moved among 
them. In order to breathe a little more freely, I was obliged 
to spring boldly before one of the carriages, the little room 
between them being the only space in which one could in any 
measure freely move oneself. Music sounded, merry masks 
were singing, and behind one of the carriages II Capitano was 
trumpeting forth his proud deeds on land and water. Wanton 
boys, on wooden horses, whose hands and hind-parts were only 
properly visible, whilst the rest was covered with a bright car- 
pet, which concealed the two legs of the rider, which person- 
ated the four legs of the horse, thrust themselves into the 
narrow space between the carriages, and thus increased the 
confusion, I could neither get forward nor backward from 
the spot : the foam of the horses behind me flew about my 
ears. In this press I sprang up behind one of the carriages, 
in which sat two masks, who were, as it seemed, a fat old 
gentleman in dressing-gown and night-cap, and a pretty flower- 
girl. She had instantly seen that it was not out of lawless- 
ness, but rather from fear, and therefore she patted me with 
her hand, and offered me two comfits for refreshment. The 
old gentleman, on the contrary, threw a whole basketful into 
my face, and, as the space behind me was now somewhat 
more free, the flower-girl did the same, so that I, not having 
any weapons of the same kind, quite powdered over from top 
to toe, was compelled to make a hasty retreat. Two harle- 
8 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


II4 

quins brushed me merrily with their maces ; but when the 
carriage again, in its turn, passed me, the same tempest began 
anew. I therefore determined to defend myself, in return, 
with comfits ; but the cannon was fired, the carriages were 
forced into the narrow side streets, to give place to the horse- 
racing, and my two masks disappeared from my sight. 

They seemed to know me. Who could they be ? I had 
not seen Bernardo in the Corso through the whole day. A 
thought occurred to me that the old gentleman in the dress- 
ing-gown and night-cap might be he, and the pretty shepherd- 
ess his so-called ‘‘tame bird.’’ Very gladly would I have seen 
her face. I had taken my place on a chair close to the cor- 
ner, the cannon shot was soon heard, and the horses rushed 
through the Corso up towards the Venetian Square The 
human mass immediately filled the street again behind them, 
and I was just about to dismount, when a fearful cry resounded 
“ Cavallor^ 

One of the horses, the first which reached the goal, had 
not been secured, and had now, in a moment, turned itself 
about, and was pursuing its way back. When one thinks upon 
the thick crowd, and the security with which every one went 
forward after the race was at an end, one may easily imagine 
the misfortune that was likely to occur. The remembrance of 
my mother’s death passed through me like a flash of light- 
ning : it was as if I felt the frightful moment in which the 
wild horses went over us. My eyes stared immovably for- 
ward. The crowd fled to the sides as if by a magical 
stroke — it seemed as if they had shrunk into themselves. I 
saw the horse snorting, and with bleeding sides and wildly 
flying mane, pass by ; I saw the sparks which flew from his 
hoofs, and at once, as if struck with a shot, drop dead to 
the earth. Anxiously inquired every one from his neighbor 
whether some misfortune had not happened. But the Ma- 
donna had held a protecting hand over her people ; nobody 
was hurt, and the danger so happily past made the public 
mind still gayer, and much wilder than ever. 

A sign was made, which announced that all order in driving 
was now at an end, and the glorious moccolo^ the splendid 
finale of the carnival, had begun. The carriages now drove 


THE LAST DA YS OF THE CARNIVAL, I I 5 

one amongst another j the confusion and the tumult became 
still greater ; the darkness increased every minute, and every 
one lighted his little candle, some whole bundles of them. In 
every window lights were placed ; houses and carriages, in 
the quiet, glorious evening, looked as if scattered over with 
these glimmering stars. Paper lanterns, and pyramids of 
light, swung upon tall poles across the street. Every one was 
endeavoring to protect his own light, and to extinguish his 
neighbor’s, whilst the cry, Sia ammazato chi non porta moc- 
colo ! ” sounded forth with increasing wildness. 

In vain I tried to defend mine ; it was blown out every mo- 
ment. I threw it away, and compelled everybody to do the 
same. The ladies by the sides of the houses stuck their light 
behind them through the cellar windows, and cried out to me, 
laughing, Senza moccolo,^^ They fancied their own lights 
safe, but the children from within climbed up to the windows 
and blew them out. Little paper balloons and lighted lamps 
came waving down from the upper windows where people sat 
with hundreds of little burning lights, which they held on 
long canes over the street, crying all the time, “ Let every one 
perish who does not carry a taper ! ” whilst fresh figures, in 
the mean time, clambered up the spouts with their pocket- 
handkerchiefs fastened on long sticks, with which to put out 
every light, holding up theirs aloft the while, and exclaiming, 
“ Senza moccolo I ” A stranger who has never seen it can form 
no idea of the deafening noise, the tumult, and the throng. 
The air is thick and warm with the mass of human beings and 
the burning lights. 

Suddenly, when some of the carriages had drawn off into 
one of the dark cross streets, I saw close before me my two 
masks. The lights of the cavalier in the dressing-gown were 
extinguished, but the young flower-girl held a bouquet of 
burning tapers aloft on a cane four or five ells long. She 
laughed aloud for joy that nobody could reach it with their 
handkerchiefs, and the man in the dressing-gown overwhelmed 
everybody with comfits who ventured to approach them. I 
would not allow myself to be terrified ; in a moment I had 
mounted on the back of the carriage, and seized hold of the 
cane, although I heard a beseeching “ No,” and her compan- 


ii6 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


ion assailed me with gypsum bullets, and that not sparingly. 
I seized fast hold of the cane in order to extinguish the lights ; 
the cane broke in my hand, and the brilliant bouquet fell to 
the earth amid the shouting of the people. 

“ Fie, Antonio ! ’’ cried the flower-girl. It pierced me 
through bone and marrow ; for it was Annunciata’s voice. 
She threw all her confits at my face, and the basket into the 
bargain. In my astonishment I leaped down, and the car- 
riage rolled on. I saw, however, a nosegay of flowers thrown 
to me as a token of reconciliation. I caught at it in the air, 
and would have followed them, but it was impossible to slip 
out ; for the carriages were all entangled, and there was the 
utmost confusion, although some turned to one side and some 
to the other. At length I escaped into a side street ; but 
when I was able to breathe more freely I perceived a heavy 
weight at my heart. “ With whom was Annunciata driving ? ’’ 

That she wished to enjoy this, the last day of the carnival, 
seemed to me very natural ; but the gentleman in the dress- 
ing-gown ? Ah, yes, my first conjecture was certainly correct : 
it must be Bernardo ! I determined to convince myself of it. 
I ran in haste through the cross streets, and came to the 
Piazza Colonna, where Annunciata lived, and posted myself 
by the door to await her arrival. Before long the carriage 
drove up, and, as if I had been the servant of the house, I 
sprang towards it. Annunciata skipped out without seeming 
to notice me. Now came the gentleman in the dressing-gown ; 
he descended too slowly to be Bernardo. “ Thanks, my 
friend ! said he : and I heard that it was the old lady-friend, 
and saw, by her feet and her brown gown, which hung below 
the dressing-gown, as she stepped out, how I had erred in my 
conjecture. 

Felissima notte^ Signora /” cried I aloud in my joy. 

Annunciata laughed, and said jestingly that I was a bad 
man, and that she therefore would set off to Florence ; but 
her hand pressed mine. 

Happy, and with a light heart, I left her, and shouted aloud 
the wild cry, Perish every one who carries not a taper ! ” 
and all the while had not one myself I thought in the mean 
time only on her and the good old woman, who had donned 


THE LAST DA YS OF THE CARNIVAL, I I 7 

the dressing-gown and night-cap in order to enjoy the carnival 
fun, for which she did not seem created. And how beautiful 
and natural it was of Annunciata, that she had not gone driv- 
ing about with strangers, and had not given a seat in her car- 
riage to Bernardo, nor even to the chapel-master ! That I, 
the moment I recognized her, had become jealous of the 
night-cap, was a something which I would not acknowledge. 
Happy and merry as I was, I resolved to spend in pleasure 
the few hours which yet remained before the carnival had 
passed like a dream. 

I went into the Festino. The whole theatre was decorated 
with garlands of lamps and lights — all the boxes were filled 
with masks, and strangers without masks. From the pit a 
high broad step led to the stage, covering in the narrow or- 
chestra, and was decorated with drapery and garlands for a 
ball-room. Two orchestras played alternately. A crowd of 
quaqueri and vetturini masks danced a merry ring-dance 
around the Bacchus and Ariadne. They drew me into their 
circle ; and, in the gladness of my heart, I made my first 
dancing essay, and found it so delightful that it did not remain 
the last. No ! for as, somewhat late at night, I hastened 
home, I danced about yet once more with the merry masks, 
and cried with them, ‘‘ The happiest night after the most 
beautiful carnival ! 

My sleep was only short. I thought in the lovely morning- 
hour on Annunciata, who now, perhaps, at this moment left 
Rome — thought upon the merry carnival days, which seemed 
to have created a new life for me, and which now, with all 
their exultation and tumult, were vanished forever. I had no 
rest — I must out into the free air. Everything was all at once 
changed — all doors and shops were closed — but few people 
were in the streets — and in the Corso, where yesterday one 
could hardly move for the joyous throng, there were now to be 
seen only a few slaves in their white dresses with the broad 
blue stripes, who swept away the comfits, which lay upon the 
streets like hail ; while a miserable horse with its hay bundle, 
from which it kept eating, hanging by its side, drew along the 
little car into which the litter of the street was thrown. A 
vetturino drew up at a house, then fastened at the top of his 


ci8 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


coach trunks and bandboxes, drew a great mat over the whole, 
and then hooked the iron chain fast around the many boxes 
that were put behind. From one of the side streets came 
another similarly laden coach. All went hence. They went 
to Naples or Florence. Rome would be as if dead for seven 
long weeks, from Ash-Wednesday till Easter. 


CHAPTER XII. 


LENT. — Allegri’s miserere in the sistine chapel. — 

VISIT TO BERNARDO. ANNUNCIATA. 

S TILL and deathlike slid on the weary day. In thought I 
recalled and revived the spectacle of the carnival, and 
the great adventure of my own life, in which Annunciata 
played the chief part. And day as it succeeded to day 
brought with it again this uniformity and this gravelike still- 
ness. I was conscious of an emptiness which my books could 
not fill. Bernardo had formerly been everything to me ; now 
it was as if there lay a gulf between us. I felt myself con- 
strained in his presence, and it became more and moie clear 
to me that Annunciata alone occupied me. 

For some moments I was happy in this consciousness ; but 
there came also days and nights in which I thought on Ber- 
nardo, who had loved her before I had done so. He indeed 
it was, also, who had introduced me to her. I had assured 
him that it was admiration, and nothing more, which I felt for 
her — him, my only friend — him, whom I had so often as- 
sured of my heart’s fidelity towards him. I was false and 
unjust. There burned in my heart the fire of remorse, but 
still my thoughts could not tear themselves from Annunciata. 
Every recollection of her, of my most happy hours spent with 
her, sunk me into the deepest melancholy. Thus contemplate 
we the smiling image, beautiful as life, of the beloved dead ; 
and the more lifelike, the more kindly it smiles, the stronger 
is the melancholy which seizes us. The great struggle of life, 
of which I had so often been told at school, and which I had 
fancied was nothing more than the difficulties of a task, or 
the ill-humor or unreasonableness of a teacher, I now, for the 
first time, began to feel. If I were to overcome this passion 
which had awoke within me, would not my former peace cer 


120 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


tainly return ? To what, also, could this love tend ? Annun- 
ciata stood high in her art ; yet the world would condemn me 
if I forsook my calling to follow her. The Madonna, too, 
would be angry ; for I had been born and brought up as her 
servant. Bernardo would never forgive me ; and I did not 
know, either, whether Annunciata loved me. That was at the 
bottom the bitterest thought to me. In vain I cast myself, in 
the church, before the image of the Madonna ; in vain I 
besought her to strengthen my soul in my great struggle, for 
even here my sin was increased — the Madonna was to me 
like Annunciata. It seemed to me that the countenance of 
every beautiful woman wore that intellectual expression which 
existed in that of Annunciata. No ; I will rend these feelings 
out of my soul ! I will never again see her ! 

I now fully comprehended what I never could understand 
before — why people felt impelled to torture the body, that by 
the pain of the flesh they might conquer in the spiritual com- 
bat. My burning lips kissed the cold marble feet of the Ma- 
donna, and for the moment peace returned to my soul. I 
thought upon my childhood, when my dear mother yet lived ; 
how happy I had then been, and what many delights even 
this dead time before Easter had brought me. 

And all, indeed, was just the same as then. In the corners 
and the squares stood, as then, the little green huts of leaves, 
ornamented with gold and silver stars ; and all round still 
hung the beautiful shields like signs, with their verses, which 
told that delicious dishes for Lent were here to be obtained. 
Every evening they lighted the gay-colored paper lamps under 
the green boughs. How had I, as a child, delighted myself 
with these things ! how happy had I been in the splendid 
booth of the bacon-dealer, which in Lent glittered like a 
world of fancy ! The pretty angels of butter danced in a 
temple, of which sausages, wreathed with silver, formed the 
pillars, and a Parmesan cheese the cupola ! My first poem, to 
be sure, had been about all this magnificence ; and the bacon- 
dealer’s lady had called it a Divina Commedia di Daniel 
Then I had heard not Annunciata, but neither did I know any 
singer. AVould that I could forget Annunciata ! 

I went with the procession to the seven holy churches of 


ALLEGRPS MISERERE. 


121 


Rome, mingled my song with those of the pilgrims, and my 
emotions were deep and sincere. But one day Bernardo whis- 
pered into my ear, with demon-like mirth : ‘‘ The merry law- 
yer on the Corso — the bold improvisatore, with penitence in 
his eyes, and ashes on his cheeks ! Ay, how well you can do 
it all 1 how you understand every part ! I cannot imitate you 
here, Antonio ! There was a jeer, and yet, at the same time, 
an apparent truth in his words, which wounded me deeply. 

The last week of Lent was come, and strangers streamed 
back towards Rome. Carriage after carriage rolled in through 
the Porta del Popolo and the Porta del Giovanni. On Wed- 
nesday afternoon began the Miserere in the Sistine chapel. 
My soul longed for music ; in the world of melody I could 
find sympathy and consolation. The throng was great, even 
within the chapel — the foremost division was already filled 
with ladies. Magnificent boxes, hung with velvet and golden 
draperies, for royal personages and foreigners from various 
courts, were here erected so high, that they looked out beyond 
the richly carved railing which separated the ladies from the 
interior of the chapel. The papal Swiss guards stood in their 
bright festal array. The officers wore light armor, and in 
their helmets a waving plume : this was particularly becoming 
to Bernardo, who was greeted by the handsome young ladies 
with whom he was acquainted. 

I obtained a seat immediately within the barrier, not far 
from the place where the papal singers were stationed. Sev- 
eral English people sat behind me. I had' seen them during 
the carnival, in their gaudy masquerade dresses : here they 
wore the same. They wished to pass themselves off for offi- 
cers, even boys of ten years old. They all wore the most ex- 
pensive uniforms, of the most showy and ill matched colors. 
As for example, one wore a light blue coat, embroidered with 
silver, gold upon the slippers, and a sort of turban with feath- 
ers and pearls. But this was not anything new at the festivals 
in Rome, where a uniform obtained for its wearer a better 
seat. The people who were near smiled at it, but it did not 
occupy me long. 

The old cardinals entered in their magnificent violet-colored 
velvet cloaks, with their white ermine capes ; and seated them- 


122 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


selves side by side, in a great half circle, within the barrier, 
whilst the priests who had carried their trains seated them- 
selves at their feet. By the little side door of the altar the 
holy father now entered in his purple mantle and silver tiara. 
He ascended his throne. Bishops swung the vessels of in- 
cense around him, whilst young priests, in scarlet vestments, 
knelt, with lighted torches in their hands, before him and 
the high altar. 

The reading of the lessons began.^ But it was impossible 
to keep the eyes fixed on the lifeless letters of the Missal — 
they raised themselves, with the thoughts, to the vast universe 
which Michael Angelo has breathed forth in colors upon the 
ceiling and the walls. I contemplated his mighty sibyls and 
wondrously glorious prophets, every one of them a subject for 
a painting. My eyes drank in the magnificent processions, the 
beautiful groups of angels : they were not to me painted pic- 
tures ; all stood living before me. The rich tree of knowledge 
from which Eve gave the fruit to Adam ; the Almighty God, 
who floated over the waters, not borne up by angels, as the 
old masters had represented him — no, the company of angels 
rested upon him and his fluttering garments. It is true I had 
seen these pictures before, but never as now had they seized 
upon me. The crowd of people, perhaps even the lyric of 
my thoughts, made me wonderfully alive to poetical impres- 
sions j and many a poefs heart has felt as mine did ! 

The bold foreshortenings, the determinate force with which 
every figure steps forward, is amazing, and carries one quite 
away ! It is a spiritual Sermon on the Mount, in color and 
form. Like Raphael, we stand in astonishment before the 
power of Michael Angelo. Every prophet is a Moses like 
t hat which he formed in marble. What giant forms are those 
which seize upon our eye and our thoughts as we enter ! But, 
when intoxicated with this view, let us turn our eyes to the 
background of the chapel, whose whole wall is a high altar 
of art and thought. The great chaotic picture, from the floor 

1 Before the commencement of the Miserere^ fifteen long lessons ate 
read ; and, at the close of each one, a light in the grand candelabra is 
extinguished, there being a light for every lesson. — Author's Note. 


ALLEGRPS MISERERE, 


123 

to the roof, shows itself there like a jewel, of which all the 
rest is only the setting. We see there the Last Judgment. 

Christ stands in judgment upon the clouds, and the apostles 
and his mother stretch forth their hands beseechingly for the 
poor human race. The dead raise the grave-stones under 
which they have lain ; blessed spirits float upwards, adoring 
to God, whilst the abyss seizes its victims. Here one of the 
ascending spirits seeks to save his condemned brother, whom 
the abyss already embraces in its snaky folds. The children 
of despair strike their clinched fists upon their brows, and sink 
into the depths ! In bold foreshortening, float and tumble 
whole legions between heaven and earth. The sympathy of 
the angels ; the expression of lovers who meet ; the child, 
that, at the sound of the trumpet, clings to the mother’s 
breast, is so natural and beautiful, that one believes one’s 
self to be one among those who are waiting for judgment. 
Michael Angelo has expressed in colors what Dante saw and 
has sung to the generations of the earth. 

The descending sun, at that moment, threw his last beams 
in through the uppermost window. Christ, and the blessed 
around him, were strongly lighted up ; whilst the lower part, 
where the dead arose, and the demons thrust their boat, laden 
with damned, from shore, were almost in darkness. 

Just as the sun went down the last lesson was ended, and 
the last light which now remained was removed, and the 
whole picture-world vanished from before me ; but, in that 
same moment, burst forth music and singing. That which 
color had bodily revealed arose now in sound : the day of 
judgment, with its despair and its exultation, resounded 
above us. 

The father of the Church, stripped of his papal pomp, 
stood before the altar and prayed at the holy cross : and upon 
the wings of the trumpet resounded the trembling quire, Pop- 
ulus meus^ quid feci tihi ? ” Soft angel tones rose above the 
deep song, tones which ascended not from a human breast : it 
was not a man’s nor a woman’s : it belonged to the world of 
spirits : it was like the weeping of angels dissolved in melody. 

In this world of harmony my soul imbibed strength and the 
fullness of life. I felt myself joyful and strong, as I had not 


124 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


been for a long time. Annunciata, Bernardo, all my love, 
passed before my thought. I loved, in this moment, as 
blessed spirits may love. The peace which I had sought in 
prayer, but had not found, flowed now, with these tones, into 
my heart. 

When the Miserere was ended, and the people all had gone 
away, I was sitting with Bernardo in his room. I offered him 
my hand in sincerity, spoke all that my excited soul dictated. 
My lips became eloquent. Allegri’s Miserere^ our friendship, 
all the adventures of my singular life, furnished material. 
I told him how morally strong the music had made me, how 
heavy my heart had been previously — my sufferings, anxiety, 
and melancholy, during the whole of Lent ; yet, without con- 
fessing how great a share he and Annunciata had had in the 
whole : this was the only little fold of my heart which I did 
not unveil to him. He laughed at me, and said that I was a 
poor sort of a man ; that the shepherd-life, with Domenica 
and the Signora, all that woman’s education, and, last of all, 
the Jesuit school, had quite been the ruin of me; that my hot 
Italian blood had been thinned with goats’ milk ; that my 
Trappist-hermit life had made me sick ; that it was necessary 
for me to have a little tame bird, which would sing me out of 
my dream-world ; that I ought to be a man, like other folks, 
and then I should find myself sound both body and soul. 

“ We are very different, Bernardo,” said I ; “ and yet my 
heart is wonderfully attached to you : at times I wish that we 
could be always together.” 

“ Then it would not go well with our friendship,” replied 
he ; no, then it would be all over with it before we were 
aware ! Friendship is like love, all the stronger for separa- 
tion. 1 think sometimes how wearisome it must be in reality 
to be married. Forever and forever to see one another, and 
that in the smallest things. Most married folks are disgusting 
to one another : it is a sort of propriety, a species of good-na- 
ture, which holds them together in the long run. I feel very 
well, in myself, that if my heart glows ever so fiercely, and 
hers whom I love burns the same, yet would these flames, if 
they met, be extinguished. Love is desire, and desire dies 
when gratified.” 


VISIT TO BERNARDO, 


125 

But if, now, your wife were beautiful and discreet as ” — 
As Annunciata,’^ said he, seeing that I hesitated for the 
name which I wanted. Yes, Antonio, I would look at the 
beautiful rose as long as it were fresh ; and when the leaves 
withered and the fragrance was lost, God knows what I then 
should have a fancy for. At this moment, however, I have a 
very curious one, and I have felt something like it before. I 
have a wish to see how red your blood is, Antonio ! But I am 
a reasonable man — you are my friend, my honest friend ; we 
will not fight, even if we cross each other in the same love- 
adventure ! ’’ And with this he laughed loud, pressed me vio- 
lently to his breast, and said, half-jestingly, “I will make over 
to you my tame bird j it begins to be sensitive, and will cer- 
tainly please you ! Go with me this evening ; confidential 
friends need not hide anything from one another ; we will have 
a merry evening ! On Sunday the holy father will give us all 
his blessing ! 

‘‘ I shall not go with you,’^ I replied. 

“You are a coward, Antonio!’’ said he; “do not let the 
goats’ milk entirely subject your blood ! Your eye can burn 
like mine; it can truly burn ; I have seen it! Your suffer- 
ings, your anxiety, your penitence in Lent : yes, shall I openly 
tell you the reason of them ? I know it very well, Antonio ; 
you cannot hide it from me ! Now, then, clasp Beauty to your 
heart — only you have not the courage — you are a coward, 
or” — 

“ Your conversation, Bernardo,’' replied I, “offends me ! ” 

“ But you must endure it, though,” he answered. At these 
words the blood mounted into my cheeks, whilst my eyes 
filled with tears. 

“ Can you thus sport with my devotion for you ? ” I cried. 
“ Do you fancy that I have come between you and Annun- 
ciata ; fancy that she has regarded me with more kindness 
than yourself ? ” 

“ O, no ! ” interrupted he ; “ you know very well that I have 
not such a vivid fancy. But do not let her come into our con- 
versation. And with regard to your devotion to me, of which 
your are always talking, I do not understand it. We give 
one another the hand ; we are friends, reasonable friends ; 


126 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


but your notions are over-strained : me you must take as I 
am/’ 

This probably was the sting in our conversation — the part 
which went to my heart, and, so to say, went into the blood : I 
felt myself wounded, and yet in his hand-pressure, at parting, 
there was a something cordial. 

The next day, which was Maunday-Thursday, called me to 
the church of St Peter’s, in whose magnificent vestibule, — the 
greatness of which has indeed led some strangers to imagine 
that it was the whole church — as great a throng was found as 
was seen in the streets and across the bridge of St. Angelo. 
It was as if the whole of Rome flocked here to wonder, even 
as much as strangers did, at the greatness of the church, 
which seemed more and more to extend itself to the throng. 

Singing resounded above us ; two great choirs, in different 
parts of the nave of the church, replied to each other. The 
throng crowded to witness the feet-washing, which had 
just begun."^ From the barrier behind which the stranger 
ladies were seated, one of them nodded kindly to me. It was 
Annunciata. She was come — was here in the church ; my 
heart beat violently. I stood so near to her that I could bid 
her welcome ! 

She had arrived the day before, but still too late to hear 
Allegri’s Miserere ; yet she had been present at the Ave 
Maria in the church of St. Peter’s. 

The extraordinary gloom,” said she, made all more im- 
posing than now by daylight ! Not a light burned, excepting 
the lamps at St. Peter’s tomb ; these formed a wreath of light, 
and yet not strong enough to illumine the nearest pillar. All 
marched around in silence ; I, too, sank down, feeling right 
vividly how very much can be comprised in nothing : what 
force there lies in a religious silence 1 ” 

Her old friend, whom I now first discovered, and who wore 
a long veil, nodded kindly. The solemn ceremony was in 
the mean time concluded, and they looked in vain for their 
servant, who should have attended them to their carriage. A 

1 On Maunday-Thursday the Pope washes the feet of thirteen priests, 
old and young ; they kiss his hand, and he gives to them a bouquet of 
blue gillyflowers. — Author's Note, 


ANNUNCIATA, 


127 

crowd of young men had become aware of Annunciata’s pres- 
ence ; she seemed uneasy, and wished to go ; I ventured to 
entreat that I might conduct them out of the church to their 
carriage. The old lady immediately took my arm ; but An- 
nunciata walked beside of us ; I had not courage to offer her 
my arm ; but when we neared the door, and were carried 
along with the crowd, I felt her arm within mine j it wert 
like fire through my blood. 

I found the carriage. When they were seated, Annunci- 
ata asked me to dine with them that day. “ Only to eat a 
meagre dinner,’^ said she, “ such as we may enjoy in Lent.” 

I was happy ! The old lady, who did not hear well, under- 
stood, however, by the expression of Annunciata’s face, that it 
was an invitation, but imagined that it was to take a seat with 
them in the carriage. She, therefore, in a moment, put aside 
all the shawls and cloaks which lay on the seat opposite, and 
extended to me her hand, saying, ‘‘Yes, be so good, Mr. 
Ahh6 ! there is room enough ! ” 

That was not Annunciata’s meaning : I saw a slight crimson 
pass over her cheek ; but I sat directly opposite to her, and 
the carriage rolled away. 

A delicious little dinner awaited us. Annunciata spoke of 
her residence in Florence, and of the festival of to-day ; in- 
quired from me about Lent in Rome, and how I had passed 
the time ; a question which I could not answer quite candidly. 

“You will certainly see the christening of the Jews on 
Easter-day ? ” asked I, casting, at the same time, a glance at 
the old woman, whom I had quite forgotten. 

“ She did not hear it ! ” replied Annunciata, “ and, if she 
had, you need not have minded. I only go to such places as 
she can accompany me to, and for her it would not be becom- 
ing to be present at the festival in the baptismal chapel of 
Constantine.^ Neither is it very interesting to me ; for it so 
rarely happens that it is from conviction that either Jews or 
Turks receive baptism. I remember, in my childhood, what 
an unpleasant impression this whole scene made upon me. I 

1 Annually, on Easter-day, some Jews, or Turks, are baptized. In th« 
Diario Romano this day is thus marked : si fa il battesimo di Ehrei e TurcH 
— Author’s Note, 


128 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


saw a little Jew-boy, who seemed to be seven years did ; he 
came forth with the dirtiest shoes and stockings, with thin, 
uncombed hair ; and, in the most painful contrast with this, 
in a magnificent white silk dress, which the Church had given 
him. The parents, filthy as the boy, followed him ; they had 
sold his soul for a happiness which they did not know them- 
selves ! ’’ 

You saw that as a child here in Rome ? ” asked I. 

“ Yes ! ’’ returned she, crimsoning, “ but yet, for all that, 1 
am not a Roman. 

The first time I saw you, and heard you sing,” said I, it 
seemed to me that I had known you before. I do not even 
know but I fancy so still ! If we believed in the transmigra- 
tion of souls, I could fancy that we both had been birds, had 
hopped upon the same twigs, and had known one another for 
a very long time. Is there any kind of recollection in your 
soul ? nothing which says to you that we have seen each other 
before ? ” 

‘‘Nothing at all!” replied Annunciata, and looked me 
steadfastly in the face. 

“ As you have just told me that you were a child in Rome, 
and consequently not, as I thought, had passed all your young 
years in Spain, a remembrance awoke in my soul, the same 
which I felt the first time that you stood before me as Dido, 
Have you never, as a child, at Christmas, made a speech before 
the little Jesus, in the church Ara Coeli, like other children? ” 

“ That I have 1 ” exclaimed she, “ and you, Antonio, were 
the little boy who drew all attention ! ” 

“ But was supplanted by you ! ” returned I. 

“ It was you, Antonio I ” exclaimed she aloud, seizing both 
my hands, and looking into my face with an indescribably 
gentle expression. The old lady drew her chair nearer to us, 
and looked gravely at us. Annunciata then related the whole 
to her, and she smiled at our recognition scene. 

“ How my mother and everybody talked about you,” said 
I ; “of your delicate, almost spirit-like form, and your sweet 
voice ! yes, I was jealous of you ; my vanity could not endure 
to be cast so wholly in the shade by any one. How strangely 
paths in life cross one another ! ” 


ANNUNCIATA. 


129 

I remember you very well ! ” said she. You had on a lit- 
tle short jacket, with a many white buttons, and these at that 
time excited most my interest for you ! 

“ You,” replied I, “ had a beautiful red scarf upon your 
breast ; but yet it was not that, but your eyes, your jet-black 
hair, which most of all captivated me ! Yes, I could not but 
recognize you ; you are the same as then, only the features 
more developed ; I should have known them, even under a 
greater change. I said so immediately to Bernardo, but he 
gainsaid me, and thought it must be quite another ” — 

‘‘ Bernardo ! ” she exclaimed ; and it seemed to me that her 
voice trembled. 

“Yes!” I replied, somewhat confused, “he fancied also 
that he knew you, — that Tie had seen you, I should say ; seen 
you, and connected in such a way as did not agree with my 
conjecture. Your dark hair, your glance — yes, you will not 
be angry with me, he immediately changed his opinion ; he 
fancied at the first moment that you were ” — I hesitated, — 
“ that you were not of the Catholic Church, and thus that I 
could not have heard you preach in Ara Cceli.” 

“ That I was, perhaps, of the same faith as my friend here ? ” 
said Annunciata, indicating the old lady. I nodded involun- 
tarily, but seized her hand at the same time, and asked, “ Are 
you angry with me ? ” 

“ Because your friend took me for a Jewish maiden } ” asked 
she, smiling. “ You are a strange creature 1 ” 

I felt that our connection in childhood had made us more 
familiar j every care was forgotten by me, and also every res- 
olution never to see, never to love her. My soul burned only 
for her. 

The galleries were closed these two days before Easter j 
Annunciata said how charming it must be, if, at this time, and 
quite at one’s ease, one could wander through them ; but that 
was hardly possible. The wish from her lips was a command ; 
I knew the custodian and the door-keeper, all the dependants 
who were now returned to the Palazzo Borghese, where was 
one of the most interesting collections in Rome, through 
which I, as a child, had gone with Francesca, and made ac- 
9 


130 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


quaintance with every little Love in Francesco Albani’s Four 
Seasons. 

I entreated that I might take her and the old lady there the 
following day ; she consented, and I was infinitely happy. 

In my solitude at home I again thought on Bernardo ! no, 
he loved her not, I consoled myself with thinking. “ His love 
is only sensual, not pure and great like mine ! ” Our last 
conversation seemed to me still more bitter than it had be- 
fore ; I saw only his pride, felt myself very much offended, 
and worked myself up into a greater passion than I had ever 
manifested. His pride had been wounded by Annunciata^s 
apparently greater kindness towards me than him. To be 
sure it was he who introduced me to her, but perhaps his in- 
tention only was to make fun of me, and therefore he had 
expressed astonishment at my singing, and at my improvisa- 
tion — he had never dreamed that I could outshine his hand- 
some person, his free and bold manner. Now, it had been his 
intention to deter me from again visiting her. But a good 
angel had willed it otherwise ! her gentleness, her eyes, all 
had told me that she loved me, that she had a kindness for 
me, nay, more than a kindness, for she must have felt that I 
loved her ! 

In my joy I pressed hot kisses upon my pillow, but with 
this feeling of the happiness of love a bitterness arose in my 
heart towards Bernardo. I grew angry with myself for not 
having had more character, more warmth, more gall ; now a 
hundred excellent answers occurred to me, which I might have 
given him when he treated me the last time like a boy ; every 
little affront which he had given now stood livingly before me. 
For the first time I felt the blood regularly boil in my veins : 
hot anger and the purest and best emotions, mingled with a 
hateful bitterness, deprived me of sleep. It was not until 
towards morning that I slumbered a little, and then awoke 
stronger and lighter of heart. 

I announced to the custodian that I was about to bring a 
foreign lady to see the gallery, and then went to Annunciata* 
We drove all three to the Palazzo Borghese. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE PICTURE GALLERY. A MORE PRECISE EXPLANATION.— 

EASTER. — THE TURNING POINT OF MY HISTORY. 

I T was to me quite a peculiar feeling to conduct Annunciata 
to where I had played as a boy — where the Signora had 
shown to me the pictures, and had amused herself with my 
naive inquiries and remarks. I knew every piece, but An- 
nunciata knew them better than I did ; her observations were 
most apposite ; with an accustomed eye, and natural taste, she 
detected every beauty. We stood before that celebrated piece 
of Gerardo del Notti, Lot and his Daughters. I praised it 
for its great effect — Lot’s strong countenance, and the life- 
enjoying daughter who offered him wine, and the red evening 
heaven which shone through the dark trees. 

‘‘ It is painted with soul and flame ! ” exclaimed she. “ I 
admire the pencil of this artist, as regards coloring and ex- 
pression ; but the subjects which he has chosen do not please 
me. I require, even in pictures, a kind of fitness, a noble 
purity in the selection of the subject ; therefore Correggio’s 
Danae pleases me less than it might do ; beautiful is she, 
divine is the little angel with the bright wings, which sits upon 
the couch, and helps her to collect together the gold, but the 
subject is to me ignoble, it wounds, so to say, my heart’s feel- 
ing of beauty. For this reason is Raphael so great in my 
judgment ; in everything that I have seen of his, he is the 
apostle of innocence, and he, therefore, alone has been able 
to give us the Madonna ! ” 

But beauty, as a work of art,” interrupted I, “ can, how- 
ever, make us overlook the want of nobility in subject.” 

Never ! ” replied Annunciata. “ Art in every one of its 
branches is high and holy ; and purity in spirit is more attrac- 
tive than purity of form ; and therefore the naive representa- 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


132 

tions of the Madonna by the olden masters excite us so 
deeply, although, with their rough forms, they often seem 
more like Chinese pictures, where all is so stiff and hard. 
The spirit must be pure in the pictures of the painter, as well 
as in the song of the poet ; some extravagances I can forgive, 
call them something startling, and lament that the painter has 
fallen into such, but I can, nevertheless, please myself with 
the whole.” 

“ But,” I exclaimed, variety in subject is interesting ; to 
see always ” — 

‘‘ Yqu mistake me !” she returned. “I do not desire that 
people should always paint Madonnas ! no ; I am delighted 
with a glorious landscape, a living scene out of the life of the 
people, a ship in a storm, and the robber scenes of Salvator 
Rosa ! But I will not have anything revolting in the region 
of art, and so I call even Scidoni’s well-painted sketch in the 
Sciara Palazzo. You have not forgotten it ? Two peasants 
upon asses ride past a stone wall, upon which lies a death’s 
head, within which sit a mouse, a gadfly, and a worm, and on 
the wall these words are to be read, ‘ Et ego in Arcadia I ’ ” 

I know it,” replied I ; “it hangs by the side of Raphael’s 
charming violin-player.” 

“Yes,” returned Annunciata ; “would that the inscription 
was placed under this, and not upon the other hateful pic- 
ture ! ” 

We now stood before Francesco Albani’s Four Seasons. I 
told her what an impression the little Loves had made upon 
me as a child, when I had lived and played about in this 
gallery. 

“You enjoyed happy life-points in your childhood !” said 
she, repressing a sigh, which perhaps had reference to her 
own. 

“ You, doubtless, no less so,” replied I: “you stood, the 
first time I saw you, like a happy, admired child, and, when 
we met the second time, you captivated the whole of Rome, 
and — seemed happy. Were you so really at heart ” 

I had bowed myself half down to her. She looked directly 
into my face with an expression of singular melancholy, and 
said, “ The admired, happy child was fatherless and mother- 


A MORE PRECISE EXPLANATION. I 33 

less — a homeless bird upon the leafless twig ; it might have 
perished of hunger, but the despised Jew gave it shelter and 
food till it could flutter forth over the wild, restless sea ! ’’ 

She ceased, and then, shaking her head, added, “ But these 
are not adventures which could interest a stranger ; and I can- 
not tell how I have been induced to gossip about it’’ 

She would have moved on, but I seized her hand, whilst I 
inquired, “ Am I, then, such a stranger to you ? ” \ 

She gazed for a moment before her in silence, and said, 
wdth a pensive smile, ‘‘Yes, I, too, have also had beautiful 
moments in life. And,” added she, with her accustomed 
gayety, “ I will only think on these ! ” Our meeting as chil- 
dren — your strange dreaming about that which is past, in- 
fected me also, and made the heart turn to its own pictures, 
instead of the works of art which surround us here I ” 

When we left the gallery and had returned to her hotel, we 
found that Bernardo had been there to pay his respects to her. 
They told him that she and the old lady had driven out, and 
that I had accompanied them. His displeasure at the knowl- 
edge of this I had foreseen already ; but instead of grieving 
over this, as I should have done formerly, my love for Annun- 
ciata had awoke defiance and bitterness towards him. He 
had so often wished that I was possessed of character and 
determination, even if it made me unjust to him ; now he 
would see that I had both. 

Forever rung in my ear Annunciata’s words about the de- 
spised Jew who took the homeless bird under his wings ; she 
must then be the same whom Bernardo had seen at the old 
Hanoch’s. This interested me infinitely ; but I could not 
again induce her to renew the subject. 

When I made my appearance the next day, I found her in 
her chamber, studying a new piece. I entertained myself for 
a long time with the old lady, who was more deaf than I had 
imagined, and who seemed right thankful that I would talk 
with her. It had occurred to me that she had seemed kindly 
disposed to me since my first improvisation ; and from that I 
had imagined that she had heard it. 

“ And so I have done,” she assured me ’ “ from the ex- 
pression of your countenance, and from some few words which 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


134 

reached me, I understood the whole. And it was beautiful I 
It is in this way that I understand all Annunciata’s recitative, 
and that alone by the expression ; my eye has become acuter 
as my ear has become duller.’’ 

She questioned me about Bernardo, who had called yester- 
day when we were out, and lamented that he was not with us. 
She expressed an extraordinary good-will towards him, and 
great interest. ‘‘Yes,” said she, as I assented to it, “he has 
a noble character ! I know one trait of him. May the God 
of the Jew and the Christian defend him for it ! ” 

By degrees she became more eloquent. Her affection for 
Annunciata was touching and strong. Thus much became 
clear to me out of the many broken and half-darkly expressed 
communications which she made. Annunciata was born in 
Spain, of Spanish parents. In her early childhood she came 
to Rome : and when she became there suddenly fatherless and 
motherless, the old Hanoch, who, in his youth, had been in 
her native land, and had known her parents, was the only one 
who befriended her. Afterwards, whilst yet a child, she was 
sent back to her native country, to a lady w^ho cultivated her 
voice and her dramatic talent. A man of great influence had 
fallen in love with the beautiful girl ; but her coldness towards 
him had awoke in him bitterness, and a desire to obtain her 
by craft. The old woman seemed unwilling to lift the mys- 
terious veil which covered this terrible time. Annunciata’s 
life was in danger ; she secretly fled to Italy, where it would 
be difficult to discover her, with her old foster-father, in the 
Jews’ quarter in Rome. It was only a year and a half since 
this happened ; and during this time it was that Bernardo had 
seen her, and when she had presented him with the wine of 
which he had spoken so much. How indiscreet it seemed to 
me to show herself thus to a stranger, when she might have 
expected an assassin in every one of them. Yes, she knew 
indeed that Bernardo was not such a one ; she had heard 
nothing, indeed, but the praises of his boldness and of his no- 
ble conduct. Shortly after this, they heard that her persecutor 
was dead. She flew forth, therefore, inspired by her sacred 
art, and enraptured the people by it and her beauty. The old 
lady accompanied her to Naples, saw her gather her first lau- 
rels, and had not yet left her. 


EASTEJ^. 


135 

Yes/’ continued the eloquent old lady, ‘‘she is also an 
angel of God ! Pious is she in her faith, as a woman ought 
to be ; and understanding has she as much as one could wish 
for the best heart.” 

I left the house just as the joy-firing commenced. In all 
the streets, in the squares, from balconies and windows, peo- 
ple stood with small cannons and pistols, which was a sign 
that Lent was now at an end. The dark curtains with which, 
for seven long weeks, the pictures in churches and chapels 
had been covered,' fell off at the same moment. All was 
Easter gladness. The time of sorrow was over ; to-morrow 
was Easter, the day of joy, and of twofold joy for me ; for I 
was invited to accompany Annunciata to the church festival 
and the illumination of the dome. 

The bells of Easter rang ; the cardinals rolled abroad in 
their gay carriages, loaded with servants behind ; the equi- 
pages of rich foreigners, the crowd of foot passengers, filled 
the whole narrow streets. From the castle of St. Angelo 
waved the great flag on which were the papal arms and the 
Madonna’s holy image. In the square of St. Peter’s there was 
music, and round about garlands of roses, and wood-cuts, rep- 
resenting the Pope distributing his blessing, were to be pur- 
chased. The fountains threw up their gigantic columns of 
water, and all around by the colonnades were loges and 
benches, which already, like the square itself, were almost 
filled. 

Anon, and almost as great a throng proceeded from the 
church, where processions and singing, exhibitions of holy rel- 
ics, fragments of food, nails, etc., had refreshed many a pious 
mind. The immense square seemed a sea of human beings ; 
head moved itself to head ; the line of carriages drew itself 
closer together ; peasants and boys climbed up the pedestals 
of the saints. It seemed as if all Rome at this moment lived 
and breathed only here. 

The Pope was borne in procession out of church. He 
sat aloft on the shoulders of six priests appareled in lilac- 
colored robes, upon a magnificent throne-chair ; two younger 
priests waved before him colossal peacocks’ tails on long 
staves ; priests preceded him swinging the vessels of incense, 
and cardinals followed after, singing hymns. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


136 

As soon as the procession had issued from the portal, all the 
choirs of music received him with triumph. They bore him 
up the lofty steps to the gallery, upon whose balcony he soon 
showed himself, surrounded by cardinals. Every one dropped 
on their knees — long lines of soldiers — the aged person 
like the child — the Protestant stranger alone stood erect, 
and would not bow himself for the blessing of an old man. 
Annunciata half kneeled in the carriage, and looked up to 
the holy father with soul-full eyes. A deep silence reigned 
around, and the blessing, like invisible tongues of fire, was 
wafted over the heads of us all. 

Next fluttered down from the papal balcony two different 
papers ; the one containing a forgiveness of all sins, the other 
a curse against all the enemies of the Church. And the peo- 
ple struck about them to obtain even the smallest scrap of 
them. 

Again rang the bells of all the churches ; music mingled 
itself in the jubilant sound. I was as happy as Annunciata. 
At the moment when our carriage was set in motion, Bernardo 
rode close up to us. He saluted both the ladies, but ap- 
peared not to see me. 

“ How pale he was ! ’’ said Annunciata. Is he ill ? ” 

“ I fancy not,” I replied ; but I knew very well what had 
chased the blood from his cheeks. 

This matured my determination. I felt how deeply I loved 
Annunciata ; that I could give up everything for her if she 
yielded me her love. I resolved to follow her. I doubted 
not of my dramatic talent j and my singing — I knew the 
effect which my singing had produced. I should certainly 
make my dehut with honor when I had once ventured on this 
step. If she loved me, what pretension had Bernardo 1 He 
might woo her if his love were as strong as mine ; and, if she 
loved him, — yes, then I would instantly withdraw my claim. 

I wrote all this to him in a letter that same day, and I will 
venture to believe that there breathed in it a warm and true 
heart, for many tears fell upon the paper as I spoke of our 
early acquaintance, and how wonderfully my heart had always 
clung to him. The letter was dispatched, and I felt myself 
calmer, although the thought of losing Annunciata, like the 


EASTER. 


137 

vulture of Prometheus, rent my heart with its sharp beak ; yet, 
nevertheless, I dreamed of accompanying her forever, and of 
winning at her side honor and joy. As singer, as impro visa- 
tore, I should now begin the drama of my life. 

After the Ave Maria I went with Annunciata and the old 
lady in their carriage to see the illumination of the Dome. 
The whole of the church of St. Peter’s with its lofty cupola, 
the two lesser ones by its side, and the whole fagade, were 
adorned with transparencies and paper lanterns ; these were 
so placed in the architecture that the whole immense building 
stood with a fiery outline amid the blue air. The throng in 
the neighborhood of the church seemed greater than in the 
forenoon ; we could scarcely move at a foot’s pace. We first 
saw from the bridge of St. Angelo the whole illuminated giant 
structure, which was reflected in the yellow Tiber, where boat- 
loads of rejoicing people were charmed with the whole pic- 
ture. 

When we reached the square of St. Peter’s, where all was 
music, the ringing of bells and rejoicing, the signal was just 
given for the changing of the illumination. Many hundreds 
of men were dispersed over the roof and dome of the church, 
where, at one and the same moment, they shoved forward 
great iron pans with burning pitch-garlands ; it was as if every 
lantern burst forth into flame ; the whole structure became a 
blazing temple of God, which shone over Rome, like the star 
over the cradle in Bethlehem.^ The triumph of the people in- 
creased every moment, and Annunciata was overcome by the 
view of the whole. 

“Yet it is horrible!” she exclaimed. “ Only think of the 
unhappy man who must fasten on and kindle the topmost 
light on the cross upon the great cupola. The very thought 
makes me dizzy.” 

“ It is as lofty as the pyramids of Egypt,” said I. “ It re- 
quires boldness in the man to swing himself up there, and to 
fasten the string. The holy father gives him the sacrament, 
therefore, before he ascends.” 

^ The church is entirely built of stone ; so are the surrounding edifices : 
thus there is no danger from leaving the pitch-garlands and iron pans to 
burn out of themselves. All is therefore in flame through the whole night 
— Author^ s Note. 


THE 1MPR0VI3AT0RE, 


138 

“ Thus must the life of a human being be risked/’ sighed 
she ; and that merely for the pomp and gladness of a mo- 
ment.” 

“ But it is done for the glorifying of God,” I replied ; and 
how often do we not risk it for much less ? ” 

The carriages rushed past us ; most of them drove to 
Monte Pincio, in order to see from that distance the illumin- 
ated church, and the whole city which swam in its glory. 

“Yet it is,” said I, “a beautiful idea, that all the light over 
the city beams from the church. Perhaps Correggio drew 
from this the idea for his immortal night.” 

“ Pardon me,” she said ; “ do you not remember that the 
picture was completed before the church Certainly he de- 
rived the idea from his own heart ; and it seems to me also far 
more beautiful. But we must see the whole show from a more 
distant point. Shall we drive up to Monte Maria, where the 
throng is not so great, or to Monte Pincio ? We are close by 
the gate.” 

We rolled along behind the colonnade, and were soon in the 
open country. The carriage drew up at the little inn on the 
hill. The cupola looked glorious from this point ; it seemed 
as if built of burning suns. The fagade, it is true, was not 
to be seen, but this only added to the effect ; the splendor 
which diffused itself through the illumined air caused it to ap- 
pear as if the cupola, burning with stars, swam in a sea of 
light. The music and the ringing of bells reached us, but all 
around us reigned a twofold night, and the stars stood only 
like white points high in the blue air, as if they had dimmed 
their lustre above the splendid Easter fire of Rome. 

I dismounted from the carriage, and went into the little inn 
to fetch them some refreshment. As I was returning through 
the narrow passage where the lamp burned before the image 
of the Virgin, Bernardo stood before me, pale as when in the 
Jesuit school, he received the garland. His eyes glowed as 
if with the delirium of fever, and he seized my hand with the 
force and wildness of a madman. 

“ I am not an assassin, Antonio,” said he, with a strangely 
suppressed voice, “ or I would drive my sabre into your false 
heart ; but fight with me you shall ! whether your cowardice 
will or will not. Come, come with me ! ” 


THE TURNING POINT OF M\ HISTORY, 139 

Bernardo, are you mad ? ’’ inquired I, and wildly tore my- 
self from him. 

‘‘ Only cry aloud,’’ returned he, with the same suppressed 
voice, “ so that the crowd may come and help you, for you 
dare not stand single-handed against me ! Before they bind 
my hands you will be a dead man ! ” 

He offered me a pistol. “ Come, fight with me, or I shall 
become your murderer ! ” and, so saying, he drew me forth 
with him. I took the pistol which he had offered to defend 
myself from him. 

“ She loves you,” whispered he ; “ and, in your vanity, you 
will parade it before all the Roman people, before me, whom 
you have deceived with false, hypocritical speeches, although 
I never gave you cause to do so.” 

‘‘You are ill, Bernardo,” I exclaimed; “you are mad; do 
not come too near me.” 

He threw himself upon me. I thrust him back. At that 
moment I heard a report ; my hand trembled ; all was in 
smoke around me, but a strangely deep sigh, a shriek it 
could not* be called, reached my ear, my heart! My pistol 
had gone off ; Bernardo lay before me in his blood. 

I stood there like a sleep-walker, and held the pistol 
grasped in my hand. It was not till I perceived the voices 
of the people of the house around me, and heard Annunciata 
exclaim, “Jesus, Maria!” and saw her and the old lady be- 
fore me, that I was conscious of the whole misfortune. 

“ Bernardo ! ” I cried in despair, and would have flung my- 
self on his body ; but Annunciata lay on her knees beside 
him, endeavoring to stanch the blood. 

I can see even now her pale countenance and the steadfast 
look which she riveted upon me. I was as if rooted to the 
spot where I stood. 

“ Save yourself! save yourself! ” cried the old lady, taking 
hold of me by the arm. 

“ I am innocent ! ” I exclaimed, overcome by anguish. 
“Jesus, Maria! I am innocent! He would have killed me; 
he gave me the pistol, which went off by accident ! ” and that 
which I perhaps otherwise should not have dared to say aloud 
I revealed in my despair, “Yes, Annunciata, we loved thee. 


140 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


For thy sake would I die, like him ! Which of us two was the 
dearer to thee ? Tell me, in my despair, whether thou lovest 
me, and then will I escape.’^ 

“ Away ! ” stammered she, making a sign with her hand, 
whilst she was busied about the dead. 

« Fly ! ’’ cried the old lady. 

Annunciata,’’ besought I, overcome with misery, “ which 
of us two was the dearer to thee ? 

She bowed her head down to the dead ; I heard her weep- 
ing, and saw her press her lips to Bernardo’s brow. 

The gens d'armes cried some one just by me. “Fly, 
fly!” and, as if by invisible hands, I was torn out of the house 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE PEASANTS OF ROCCA DEL PAPA. — THE ROBBERS* CAVE. 
THE PARC^ OF MY LIFE. 

S HE loves Bernardo ! ** rung in my heart : it was the arrow 
of death which poisoned my whole blood, which drove me 
onward, and silenced even the voice which cried within me, 
‘‘ Thou hast murdered thy friend and brother ! ** 

I instinctively rushed through bushes and underwood, climb- 
ing over the stone walls which fenced in the vineyards on the 
hill-side. The cupola of St. Peter’s lit up the atmosphere to a 
great distance : thus shone forth the altar of Cain and Abel, 
when the murderer fled. 

For many hours, I wandered uninterruptedly forward ; nor 
did I pause, until I reached the yellow Tiber, which cut off 
my further progress. From Rome onwards, down to the Med- 
iterranean, no bridge was to be met with, nor even a boat, 
which could have conveyed me over. This unexpected im- 
pediment was as the stab of a knife, which, for a moment, cut 
in sunder the worm that gnawed at my heart ; but it speedily 
grew together again, and I felt that my whole misfortune was 
twofold. 

Not many paces from me I perceived the ruins of a tomb, 
larger in circumference, but more desolate, than that in which 
I had lived as a child with the old Domenica. Three horses 
were tied to one of the overturned blocks of stone, and were 
feeding from the bundles of hay which were fastened to their 
necks. 

A wide opening led, by a few deep steps, into the vault of 
the tomb, within which a fire was burning. Two strong-built 
peasants, wrapped in their sheep-skin cloaks, with the wool 
outwards, and in large boots and pointed hats, in which was 
fastened a picture of the Virgin, stretched themselves before 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


J42 

the fire, and smoked their short pipes. A shorter figure, 
wrapped in a large gray cloak, and with a broad, slouching hat, 
leaned against the wall, while he drank from a flask of wine 
to a farewell and a happy meeting. Scarcely had I contem- 
plated the whole group, before I was myself discovered. They 
snatched up their weapons which lay beside them, as if they 
apprehended a surprise, and stepped hastily towards me. 

What do you seek for here ? ’’ they asked. 

A boat to take me across the Tiber,” I replied. 

‘‘ You may look for that a long time,” they returned. 
‘‘ Here is neither bridge nor boat, unless folks bring them 
with them.” 

‘‘ But,” began one of them, while he surveyed me from top 
to toe, you are come a long way out of the high-road, sig- 
nor, and it is not safe out o’ nights. Caesar’s band may still 
have long roots, although the holy father has been using the 
spade, till he has perhaps worked his own hand off. ” 

‘‘You should, at least,” remarked another, “have taken 
some arms with you. See what we have done — a threefold 
charge in the gun, and a pistol in the belt, lest the piece 
should miss fire.” 

“Yes, and I have also taken a good little case-knife with 
me,” said the first speaker, and drew out of his belt a sharp 
and bright knife, with which he played in his hand. 

“ Stick it again in its sheath, Emidio,” said the second ; 
“the strange gentleman gets quite pale : he is a young man 
who cannot bear such sharp weapons. The first, best villain, 
will get from him his few scudi — us he would not so easily 
manage. Do you see ? ” said the fellow to me ; “ give us your 
money to keep, and so it will be quite safe.” 

“ All that I have you can take,” replied I, weary of life, and 
obtuse from suffering; “but no great sum will you get.” 

It was evident to me in what company I now found myself 
1 quickly felt in my pocket, in which I knew there were two 
scudi ; but, to my astonishment, found there a purse. I drew 
it forth : it was of woman’s work ; I had seen it before, in the 
hands of the old lady at Annunciata’s : she must have thrust 
it into my pocket at the last moment, that I might have spare 
money for my unhappy flight. They snatched all three at the 


THE PEASANTS OF ROCCA DEL PAPA, 1 43 

full purse ; and I shook out its contents upon the flat stone 
before the fire. 

Gold and silver ! ’’ cried they, as they saw the white louis- 
d’or shining among the piastres. “ It would have been a sin 
if the beautiful souls had fallen into robbers’ hands.” 

“ Kill me now,” said I, “ if such be your intention ; so there 
may be an end of my sufferings.” 

‘‘ Madonna mia ! ” exclaimed the first, “ what do you take us 
for ? We are honest peasants from Rocca del Papa. We kill 
no Christian brother. Drink a glass of wine with us, and tell 
us what compels you to this journey.” 

That remains my secret,” said I, and eagerly took the 
wine which they offered to me ; for my lips burned for a re- 
freshing draught. 

They whispered to each other ; and then the man in the 
broad hat rose up, nodded familiarly to the others, looked 
jestingly into my face, and said, “You’ll pass a cold night 
after the warm, merry evening ! ” He went out, and we soon 
heard him galloping. 

“You wish to go over the Tiber ? ” said one : “if you will 
not go with us, you will have to wait a long time. Seat your- 
self behind me on my horse, for to swim after its tail would not 
be much to your liking.” 

Secure I was not in this place ; I felt my home was with 
the outlawed. The fellow assisted me upon a strong, fiery 
horse, and then placed himself before me. 

“ Let me fasten this cord around you,” said the fellow, “ or 
else you may slip off, and not find the ground.” He then 
threw a cord fast round my back and arms, flinging it round 
himself at the same time, so that we sat back to back ; it was 
not possible for me to move my hands. The horse advanced 
slowly into the water, trying every step before he took it. 
Presently the water reached the saddle-bow; but, laboring 
powerfully, he gained at length the opposite shore. As soon 
as we had reached this, the fellow loosened the cord which 
bound me to him, yet only to secure my hands still more firmly 
to the girths. 

“ You might fall off and break your neck,” said he. “ Hold 
only fast, for now we cut across the Campagna.” 


144 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


He struck his heels into the sides of the horse ; the other 
did the same ; and away they sped, like well-accustomed 
horsemen, over the great desolate plain. I held myself fast 
both with hands and feet. The wind caught up the fellow’s 
long, black hair, which flapped upon my cheeks. We sped on 
past the fallen grave-stones : I saw the ruined aqueduct, and 
the moon which, red as blood, rose upon the horizon, whilst 
light, white mists flew past us. 

That I had killed Bernardo — was separated from Annun- 
ciata and my home, and now, in wild flight, bound upon the 
horse of a robber, was speeding across the Campagna — 
seemed all to me a dream, a horrible dream ! Would that I 
might speedily awake, and see these images of terror dissipate 
themselves ! I closed my eyes firmly, and felt only the cold 
wind from the mountains blowing upon my cheek. 

Now we shall be soon under grandmother’s petticoat,” 
said the rider when we approached the mountains. “ Is it 
not a good horse which we have ? Then it has also had this 
year St. Antonio’s blessing : my fellow decked him out with 
bunches of silken ribbons, opened the Bible before him, and 
sprinkled him with holy water ; and no devil, or evil eye, can 
have any influence on him this year.” 

Daylight began to dawn on the horizon when we reached the 
mountains. 

It begins to get light,” said the other rider, “ and the sig- 
nor’s eyes may suffer : I will give him a parasol ; ” and with 
that he threw a cloth over my head, which he bound so fast 
that I had not the slightest glimmering of sight. My hands 
were bound : I was thus entirely their captive, and, in my dis- 
tress of mind, submitted to everything. 

I observed that we were ascending for some time : then we 
rapidly descended again ; twigs and bushes struck me in the 
face ; we were upon an altogether unused path. At length I 
was made to dismount : they conducted me forward, but not 
a word was said ; at length we descended one step through a 
narrow opening. My soul had been too much occupied with 
itself for me to remark in what direction we had entered the 
mountains ; yet we could not have gone very deep into them. 
It was not till many years afterwards that the place became 


THE ROBBERS- CAVE. 1 45 

known to me : many strangers have visited it, and many a 
painter has represented on canvas its character and coloring. 
We were at the old Tusculum. Behind Frascati, where the 
sides of the hills are covered with chestnut woods and lofty 
laurel hedges, lie these ruins of antiquity. Tall white thorns 
and wild roses shoot up from the steps of the amphitheatre. 
In many places of the mountains are deep caves, brick-work 
vaults, almost concealed by a luxuriant growth of grass and 
underwood. Across the valley may be seen the lofty hills of 
Abruzzi, which bound the Marshes, and which give to the 
whole landscape a character of great wildness, that here, 
amid the ruins of a city of antiquity, is doubly impressive. 
They conducted me through one of these openings in the 
mountain, half concealed with depending evergreen and twin- 
ing plants. At length we came to a stand. I heard a low 
whistle ; and, immediately afterwards, the sound of a trap- 
door, or door which opened. We again descended some steps 
deeper, and I now heard several voices. The cloth was re- 
moved from my eyes, and I found myself in a spacious vault. 
Large-limbed men, in sheep-skin cloaks, like my conductors, 
sat and played at cards around a long table, upon which 
burned two brass lamps, with many wicks, which strongly 
lighted up their dark, expressive countenances. Before them 
stood wine in great bottles. My arrival excited no astonish- 
ment : they made room for me at the table, gave me a cup 
of wine, and a piece of their sausage, keeping up a conversa- 
tion, in the mean time, in a dialect which I did not understand ; 
which seemed, however, to have no reference to me. 

I felt no hunger, but only a burning thirst, and drank the 
wine. I cast my eyes around me, and saw that the walls were 
covered with arms and articles of clothing. In one corner of 
the vault was a still deeper apartment. From its roof de- 
pended two hares, which were partly skinned, and beneath 
these I perceived yet another being. A meagre old woman, 
with a singular, almost youthful bearing, sat there immovably, 
and spun flax upon a hand spindle. Her silver-white hair 
had loosened itself from the knot into which it had been fas- 
tened, and hung down over one cheek, and round her yellow- 
brown neck, and her dark eye was steadfastly fixed upon the 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


146 

spindle. She was the living image of one of the Parcae, 
Before her feet lay a quantity of burning wood-ashes, as if 
they were a magical circle which separated her from this 
world. 

I did not long remain left to myself. They commenced a 
sort of examination of me, of my condition in life, and of 
everything connected with my circumstances and family. I de- 
clared to them that they had already had all that I possessed, 
and that nobody in Rome, if they demanded a ransom for me, 
would give as much as a scudo, and that I was a poor bird, 
which, for a long time, had the intention of going to Naples, 
to try my talents as an improvisatore. I concealed not from 
them the peculiar ground of my flight, the unfortunately acci- 
dental going off of the piece, yet without explaining the imme- 
diate circumstances of it. 

‘‘ The only ransom which you are likely to obtain for me,” 
added I, “ is the sum which the law will give you for deliver- 
ing me up. Do it ; for I myself, at this moment, have no 
higher wish ! ” 

“That’s a merry wish !” said one of the men. “You have 
perhaps, however, in Rome, a little girl who would give her 
gold ear-rings for your liberty. You can, however, improvise 
at Naples ; we are the men to get you over the barriers. Or 
the ransom shall be the earnest-money of our brotherhood ; so 
here is my hand ! You are among honorable fellows, you 
shall see ! But sleep now, and think of it afterwards. Here 
is a bed, and you shall have a coverlet which has proved the 
winter’s blast and the sirocco rain — my brown cloak there on 
the hook.” 

He threw it to me, pointed to the straw mat at the end of 
the table, and left me, singing as he went the Albanian folks’ 
song, “ Disce7idi^ 0 mia hettina ! ” 

I threw myself down on the couch, without a thought of 
repose, but, overcome with fatigue, I fell into a profound 
sleep. When I began to recover my consciousness in wak- 
ing, all that which had so agitated my soul seemed to me 
like a dream ; but the place in which I was, and the dark 
countenances around me, told me immediately that my recol- 
lections were reality. 


THE ROBBERS' CAVE, 


147 

A stranger, with pistols in his girdle, and a long gray cloak 
thrown loosely over his shoulder, sat astride on the bench, 
and was in deep conversation with the other robbers. In the 
corner of the vault sat yet the old mulatto-colored woman, 
and twirled her spindle immovably as ever, a picture painted 
on a dark background. Fresh-burning wood was laid on the 
floor before her, and gave out warmth. 

The ball went through his side,’’ I heard the stranger say. 
“ He lost some blood, but, in a few moments, he is again re- 
covered.” 

“ Ei, Signor,” cried my horseman, as he again saw me 
awake; “a twelve-hours’ sleep is a good pillow! Nay, Gre- 
gorio brings news from Rome which will certainly please you 1 
You have trodden heavily on the train of the Senate 1 Yes ; 
it is actually you 1 All the circumstances agree together. 
You have actually shot the nephew of the senator ! That was 
a bold shot 1 ” 

‘‘ Is he dead ?” were the only words I could stammer forth. 

“No, not entirely!” replied the stranger, “and perhaps 
may not die this time. At least the doctors say so. The 
foreign handsome signora, who sings like a nightingale, 
watched through the whole night by his bed, till the doctors 
assured her that he must be kept quiet, and that danger was 
over.” 

“You missed your mark,” exclaimed the other, “both in 
regard to his heart and hers ! Let the bird fly, they’ll make a 
pair, and you stop with us. Our life is merry and free. You 
may become a little prince ; and the danger of it is no greater 
than hangs over every crown. Wine you shall have, and ad- 
ventures, and handsome girls for the one which has jilted you. 
Better is it to drink of life in copious draughts than to sip 
it up by drops.” 

“ Bernardo lives ! I am not his murderer ! ” This thought 
gave new life to my soul ; but my distress on account of An 
nunciata could not be alleviated. Calmly and resolutely I 
replied to the man, that they could deal with me as they liked, 
but that my nature, my whole education, my intentions in life, 
forbade me to form any such connection with him as he pro- 
posed. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


148 

Six hundred scudi is the lowest sum for which we will 
liberate you ! ” said the man, with a gloomy earnestness. If 
these are not forthcoming in six days, then you are ours, either 
dead or alive ! Your handsome face, my kindness towards you, 
will avail nothing ! Without the six hundred scudi you will 
only have your choice between brotherhood with us, or brother- 
hood with the many who lie arm in arm, embracing in the 
well below. Write to your friend, or to the handsome singer ; 
they must both of them be grateful to you at bottom, for you 
have brought about an explanation between them. They will 
certainly pay this miserable sum for you. We have never 
let anybody go so cheaply out of our inn before. Only think, 
added he, laughing, ‘‘ your coming here cost you nothing ; and 
now, board and lodging for a whole six days : nobody can say 
that it is unreasonable.” 

My answer remained the same. 

“ Perverse fellow ! ” said he. “Yet I like it in thee ; that 
I will say, even if I have to put a bullet through thy heart. 
Our jolly life must, however, captivate a young spirit ; and 
thou, a poet, an improvisatore, and not charmed with a bold 
flight ! Now, if I had desired thee to sing ‘ The proud 
Strength among the Rocks,’ must not thou have praised and 
cried up this life, which thou seemest to despise ? Drink of 
the cup, and let us hear your art. You shall describe to us 
that which I have just said — the proud struggle which the 
mountains see ; and, if you do it like a master, why, then. I’ll 
extend your time yet one day longer.” 

He reached to me a cittern from the wall ; the robbers 
gathered around me, demanding that I should sing. 

I bethought myself for some moments. I was to sing 
of the woods, of the rocks — I who, in reality, had never 
been amid them. My journey the night before had been 
made with bandaged eyes, and, during my abode in Rome, 
I had visited only the pine woods of the Villa Borghese and 
the Villa Pamfili. Mountains had, indeed, occupied me as a 
child, but only as seen from the hut of Domenica. The only 
time in which I had been amongst them was on that unfor- 
tunate going to the flower-feast at Genzano. The darkness 
and stillness of the woods lay in the picture which my mem 


THE ROBBERS' CAVE. 


149 

ory retained of our ramble under the lofty plantains by Lake 
Nemi, where we bound garlands that evening. I again saw 
all this, and ideas awoke in my soul. All these images passed 
before me in one half of the time which it requires me to 
speak of them. 

I struck a few accords, and the thoughts became words, 
and the words billowy verse. I described the deep calm, shut 
in among woods, and the cliffs which reared themselves high 
amid the clouds. In the nest of the eagle sat the mother- 
bird, and taught her young ones the strength of their pinions 
and the practice of their keen gaze, by bidding them look at 
the sun. ‘^You are the king of birds,” said she; “sharp is 
your eye, strong are your talons. Fly forth from your mother ; 
my glance will follow you, and my heart will sing like the 
voice of the swan when death embraces her. Sing will I of 
‘ proud strength 1 ’ And the young ones flew from the nest. 
The one flew only to the next peak of the cliff and sat still, 
with his eye directed to the beams of the sun, as if he would 
drink in its flames ; but the other swung itself boldly, in great 
circles, high above the cliff and the deep-lying lake. The sur- 
face of the water mirrored the woody margin and the blue 
heaven. A huge fish lay still, as if he had been a reed which 
floated on its surface. Like a lightning flash darted the eagle 
down upon its prey, struck its sharp talons in its back, and 
the heart of the mother trembled for joy. But the fish and 
the bird were of equal strength. The sharp talon was too 
firmly fixed to be again withdrawn, and a contest began which 
agitated the quiet lake in great circles. For a moment, and it 
was again calm ; the huge wings lay outspread upon the 
waters like the leaves of the lotus-flower ; again they fluttered 
aloft ; a sudden crack was heard — one wing sunk down whilst 
the other lashed the lake into foam, and then vanished. The 
fish and the bird sank into the deep water. Then was sent 
forth the lamenting cry of the mother, and she turned again 
her eye upon the second son, which had rested above upon the 
cliff, and he was not there ; but far away, in the direction of 
the sun, she saw a dark speck ascending and vanishing in his 
beams. Her heart was agitated with joy, and she sang of the 
proud strength which only became great by the lofty object for 
which it strove ! ” 


THE IMFRO VISA TORE, 


150 

My song was at an end ; a loud burst of applause saluted 
me, but my eye was arrested by the old woman. In the midst 
of my song, I had indeed observed that she let the hand spin- 
dle drop, riveted upon me a keen, dark glance, which made 
it exactly seem to me as if the scene of my childhood, which 
I had described in my song, was again renewed. She now 
raised herself up, and, advancing to me with quickening steps, 
exclaimed, — 

Thou hast sung thy ransom ! the sound of music is 
stronger than that of gold ! I saw the lucky star in thy eye 
when the fish and the bird went down into the deep abyss to 
die ! Fly boldly towards the sun, my bold eagle ! the old one 
sits in her nest and rejoices in thy flight. No one shall bind 
thy wings ! 

‘‘Wise Fulvia ! ’’ said the robber who had required me to 
sing, and who now bowed with an extraordinary gravity to the 
old woman, “ dost thou know the signor ? Hast thou heard 
him improvise before now ? ” 

“ I have seen the star in his eye — seen the invisible glory 
which beamed around the child of fortune ! He wove his 
garland ; he shall weave one still more beautiful, but with un- 
bound hands. Dost thou think of shooting down my young 
eagle in six days, because he will not fix his claws into the 
back of the fish } Six days he shall remain here in the nest, 
and then he shall fly towards the sun ! ” 

She now opened a little cupboard in the wall, and took out 
paper, upon which she was about to write. 

The ink is hard,^’ said she, “ like the dry rock ; but thou 
hast enough of the black moisture ; scratch thy hand, Cosmo, 
the old Fulvia thinks also on thy happiness ! ’’ 

Without saying a word, the robber took his knife, and^, 
putting aside the skin, wetted the pen with the blood. The 
old woman gave it to me to write the words, “ I travel to Na- 
ples ! ’’ 

“ Thy name under it ! ’’ said she ; “ that is a papal seal ! ” 

“ What is the meaning of this ? I heard one of the younger 
men say, as he cast an angry glance at the old woman. 

“ Does the worm talk 1 ” said ahe ; “ defend thyself from the 
broad foot that crushes thee ! ” 


THE ROBBERS' CA VE. 


151 

“ We confide in thy prudence, wise mother,’’ rejoined one 
of the elder ones ; ‘‘ thy will is the tabernacle of blessing and 
good luck.” 

No more was said. 

The former lively state of feeling returned ; the wine-flask 
circulated. They slapped me familiarly on the shoulder; 
gave me the best pieces of the venison which was served up ; 
but the old woman sat as before immovably at work with her 
hand spindle, whilst one of the younger men laid fresh ashes 
at her feet, saying, ‘‘ Thou art cold, old mother ! ” 

From their conversation, and from the name by which they 
had addressed her, I now discovered that she it was who 
had told my fortune, as a child, when I, with my mother and 
Mariuccia, wove garlands by Lake Nemi. I felt that my fate 
lay in her hand; she had made me write, ‘‘I travel to Na- 
ples ! ” That was my own desire, but how was I to get across 
the barrier without a passport ? how was I to maintain myself 
in the foreign city, where I knew no one ? To make my dihut 
as an improvisatore, whilst I was a fugitive from a neighboring 
city, was a thing I dared not to do. My power of language, 
however, and a singular childish reliance on the Madonna, 
strengthened my soul ; even the thought of Annunciata, which 
dissolved into a strange melancholy, brought peace to my heart 
— a peace like that which descends upon the seaman, when, 
after his ship is gone down, he alone is driven in a little boat 
towards an unknown shore. 

One day after another glided on ; the men came and went, 
and even Fulvia was absent for one whole day, and I was 
alone in the cave with one of the robbers. 

This was a young man of about one-and-twenty, of ordinary 
features, but with a remarkably melancholy expression, which 
almost bordered on insanity ; this, and his beautiful long hair 
which fell upon his shoulders, characterized his exterior. He 
sat silent for a long time, with his head sunk upon his arm. At 
length he turned himself to me and said, Thou canst read : 
read me a prayer out of this book ! ” and with that he gave 
me a little prayer-book. I read, and the most heartfelt devo- 
tion beamed in his large, dark eyes. 

“ Why wilt thou leave us ? ” asked he, offering me his hand 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


^52 

good-naturedly ; “ perjury and falsehood dwell in the city as 
in the wood ; only in the wood one has fresh air and fewer 
people.’’ 

A sort of confidential feeling arose between us ; and whilst 
I shuddered at his wild manner, I was touched by his unhap- 
piness. 

‘‘ Thou knowest, perhaps,” said he, the legend of the 
Prince of Savelli ? of the gay wedding at Ariccia ? It was, 
to be sure, only a poor peasant and a simple country-girl, but 
she was handsome, and it was her wedding. The rich lord of 
Savelli gave a dance in honor of the bride, and sent her an 
invitation to his garden ; but she revealed it to her bride- 
groom, who dressed himself in her clothes, and put on her 
bridal veil, and went instead of her, and then, when the count 
would have pressed her to his breast, a dagger was driven 
into his noble heart. I knew a count and a bridegroom like 
these, only the bride was not so open-hearted : the rich count 
celebrated the bridal night, and the bridegroom the feast of 
death with her. Her bosom shone like snow when the pale 
knife found its way to her heart ! ” 

I looked silently into his face, and had not a word where- 
with to express my sympathy. 

“ Thou thinkest that I never knew love — never, like the 
bee, drank from the fragrant cup ! ” exclaimed he. There 
travelled a high-born English lady to Naples ; she had a hand- 
some serving-maid with her — health on her cheek and fire in 
her eyes ! My comrades compelled them all to dismount from 
the carriage, and to sit in silence on the ground whilst they 
plundered it. The two women, and a young man, the lover of 
one I fancy he was, we took up among the hills. By the time 
that the ransom came for all three the girl’s red cheeks were 
gone, and her eyes burned less brightly : that came from so 
much wood among the hills ! ” 

I turned myself from him, and, as if half to excuse himself, 
he added, ‘‘ The girl was a Protestant, a daughter of Satan ! ” 

In the evening Fulvia returned, and gave me a letter, which 
she commanded me not to read. 

‘‘ The mountains have their white caps on ; it is time to fly 


THE PARCM OF MY LIFE, I 53 

away. Eat and drink ; we have a long journey before us, and 
there grow no cakes upon the naked rocky path.^^ 

The young robber placed food on the table in- haste, of 
which I partook, and then Fulvia threw a cloak over her 
shoulders, and hurried me along through dark, excavated pas- 
sages. 

In the letter lie thy wings,” said she ; not a soldier on the 
barrier shall ruffle a feather of thine, my young eagle ! The 
wishing-rod also lies beside it, which will afford thee gold and 
silver till thou hast fetched up thy own treasures.” 

She now divided, with her naked, thin arm, the thick ivy, 
which hung like a curtain before the entrance to the cavern ; 
it was dark night without, and a thick mist enwrapt the moun- 
tains. I held fast by her dress, and scarcely could keep up 
with her quick steps along the untrodden path in the dark : 
like a spirit she went forward ; bushes and hedges were left 
behind us on either hand. 

Our march had continued for some time, and we were now 
in a narrow valley between the mountains. Not far from us 
stood a straw hut, one of those which is met with in the 
Marshes, without walls, and with its roof of reeds down to the 
ground. Light shone from a chink in its low door. We en- 
tered, and found ourselves as if in a great bee-hive, but all 
around was quite black from the smoke, which had no other 
exit than through the low door. Pillars and beams, nay, even 
the reeds themselves, were shining with the soot. In the mid- 
dle of the floor was an elevation of brick-work, a few ells long, 
and probably half as broad \ on this lay a fire of wood ; here 
the food was cooked, and by this means, also, the hut was 
warmed. Further back was an opening in the wall, which led 
to a smaller hut, which was attached to the greater, just as 
one sees a small onion grow to the mother-bulb ; within this 
lay a woman sleeping, with several children. An ass poked 
forth his head from above them and looked on us. An old 
man, almost naked, with a ragged pair of drawers on, made 
of goat-skin, came towards us ; he kissed Fulvia’s hands, and, 
without a word being exchanged, he threw his woolen skin 
over his naked shoulders, drew forth the ass, and made a sign 
for me to mount. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


154 

The horse of fortune will gallop better than the ass of 
the Campagna/’ said Fulvia. 

The peasant led the ass and me out of the hut. My heart 
was deeply moved with gratitude to the singular old woman, 
and I bent down to kiss her hand ; but she shook her head, 
and then, stroking the hair back from my forehead, I felt her 
cold kiss, saw her once more motioning with her hand, and 
the twigs and hedges hid us from each other. The peasant 
struck the ass, and then ran on beside him up the path : I 
spoke to him ; he uttered a low sound, and gave me, by a sign, 
to understand that he was dumb. My curiosity to read the 
letter which Fulvia had given me let me have no rest ; I there- 
fore drew it out and opened it. It consisted of various papers, 
but the darkness forbade me to read a single word, however 
much I strained my eyes. 

When the day dawned, we were upon the ridges of the 
mountains, where alone was to be seen naked granite, with a 
few creeping plants, and the gray-green fragrant artemisia. 
The heavens were quite clear, scattered over with shining 
stars ; a sea-like cloud world lay below us : it was the Marshes 
which stretched themselves out from the mountains of Albano, 
between Veletri and Terracina, bounded by Abruzzi and the 
Mediterranean Sea. The low, wavy clouds of mist shone 
below us, and I quickly saw how the infinitely blue heaven 
changed to lilac, and then into rose-color, and the mountains 
even became like bright blue velvet. I was dazzled with the 
pomp of coloring ; a fire burned upon the side of the moun- 
tain, which shone like a star upon the light ground. I folded 
my hands in prayer ; my head bowed itself before God in the 
great church of nature, and silently besought, Let Thy will 
be done ! 

The daylight was now sufficiently clear for me to see what 
my letter contained ; it was a passport in my own name, pre- 
pared by the Roman police, and signed by the Neapolitan am- 
bassador; an order on the house of Falconet, in Naples, for 
five hundred scudi, and a small note containing the words, 
“ Bernardo’s life is out of danger ; but do not return to Rome 
for some months.” 

Fulvia said justly that here were my wings and wishing-rod. 
I was free ; a sigh of gratitude arose from my heart. 


THE PARCM OF MY LIFE. I 55 

We soon reached a more trodden path, where some shep- 
herds were sitting at their breakfasts. My guide stopped 
here ; they seemed to know him, and he made them under- 
stand, by signs with his fingers, that they should invite us to 
partake . of their meal, which consisted of bread and bufialo- 
cheese, to which they drank asses’ milk. I enjoyed some 
mouthfuls, and felt myself strengthened thereby. 

My guide now showed me a path, and the others explained 
to me that it led down the mountains along the Marshes to 
Terracina, which I could reach before evening. I must con- 
tinually keep this path to the left of the mountains, which 
would, in a few hours, bring me to a canal, which went from 
the mountains to the great high-road, the boundary trees of 
which I should see as soon as the mist cleared away. By 
following the canal, I should come out upon the high-road, just 
beside a ruined convent, where now stood an inn, called Torre 
di tre Ponti. 

Gladly would I have bestowed upon my guide a little gift ; 
but I had nothing. It then occurred to me that I still had, 
however, the two scudi, which were in my pocket when I left 
Rome \ I had only given up the purse with the money which 
I had received as needful in my flight. Two scudi were thus, 
for the moment, all my ready money ; the one I would give to 
my guide, the other I must keep for my own wants till I 
reached Naples, where I could only avail myself of my bill. 
I felt in my pocket, but vain was all my search ; they had 
long ago taken from me all my little property. I had nothing 
at all : I therefore took off the silk handkerchief which I had 
round my neck, and gave it to the man, offered my hand to 
the others, and struck alone into the path which led down to 
the Marshes. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE PONTINE MARSHES. TERRACINA. — AN OLD ACQUAINT- 
ANCE. FRA DIAVOLO’S NATIVE CITY. — THE ORANGE-GAR- 

DEN AT MOLO DI GAETA. — THE NEAPOLITAN SIGNORA. — 
NAPLES. 

M any people imagine that the Pontine Marshes are 
only a dreary extent of stagnant, slimy water, a mel- 
ancholy road to travel over : on the contrary, the Marshes 
have more resemblance to the rich plains of Lombardy yes, 
they are like them, rich to abundance ; grass and herbage 
grow here with a succulence and a luxuriance which the north 
of Italy cannot exhibit. 

Neither can any road be more excellent than that which 
leads through the Marshes, upon which, as on a bowling-green, 
the carriages roll along between unending alleys of lime- 
trees, whose thick branches afford a shade from the scorching 
beams of the sun. On each side the immense plain stretches 
itself out with its tall grass, and its fresh, green marsh-plants. 
Canals cross one another, and drain off the water which stands 
in ponds and lakes covered with reeds and broad-leaved water- 
lilies. 

On the left hand, in coming from Rome, the lofty hills of 
Abruzzi extend themselves, with here and there small towns, 
which, like mountain castles, shine with their white walls from 
the gray rocks. On the right the green plain stretches down 
to the sea where Cape Cicello lifts itself, now a promontory, 
but formerly Circe’s Island, where tradition lands Ulysses. 

As I went along, the mists, which began to dissipate, floated 
over the green extent where the canals shone like linen on a 
bleaching-ground. The sun glowed with the warmth of sum- 
mer, although it was but the middle of March. Herds of 
buffaloes went through the tall grass. A troop of horses 


THE PONTINE MARSHES. 1 57 

galloped wildly about, and struck out with their hind feet, so 
that the water was dashed around to a great height ; their bold 
attitudes, their unconstrained leaping and gamboling, might 
have been a study for an animal-painter. To the left I saw a 
dark monstrous column of smoke, which ascended from the 
great fire which the shepherds had kindled to purify the air 
around their huts. I met a peasant, whose pale, yellow, sickly 
exterior contradicted the vigorous fertility which the Marshes 
presented. Like a dead man arisen from the grave, he rode 
upon his black horse, and held a sort of lance in his hand 
with which he drove together the buffaloes which went into the 
swampy mire, where some of them lay themselves down, and 
stretched forth only their dark ugly heads with their malicious 
eyes. 

The solitary post-houses, of three or four stories high, which 
were erected close by the road-side, showed also, at the first 
glance, the poisonous effluvia which steamed up from the 
Marshes. The lime-washed walls were entirely covered with 
an unctuous, gray-green mould. Buildings, like human be- 
ings, bore here the stamp of corruption, which showed itself in 
strange contrast with the rich luxuriance around, with the 
fresh verdure, and the warm sunshine. 

My sickly soul presented to me here in nature an image of 
the false happiness of life ; thus people almost always see the 
world through the spectacles of feeling, and it appears dark 
or rose-colored according to the hue of the glass through 
which they look. 

About an hour before the Ave Maria I left the Marshes be- 
hind me ; the mountains, with their yellow masses of rock, 
approached nearer and nearer, and close before me stood 
Terracina in the fertile, Hesperian landscape. Three lofty 
palm-trees, with their fruit, grew not far from the road. The 
vast orchards, which stretched up the mountain-sides, seemed 
like a great green carpet with millions of golden points. 
Lemons and oranges bowed the branches down to the ground. 
Before a peasant’s hut lay a quantity of lemons, piled together 
into a heap, as if they had been chestnuts which had been 
shaken down. Rosemary, and wild dark-red gillyflowers, grew 
abundantly in the crevices of the rock, high up among the 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


158 

peaks of the cliffs where stood the magnificent remains of the 
castle of the Ostrogothic king Theodoric/ and which overlook 
the city and the whole surrounding country. 

My eyes were dazzled with the beautiful picture, and, 
quietly dreaming, I entered Terracina. Before me lay the 
sea, which I now beheld for the first time — the wonderfully 
beautiful Mediterranean. It was heaven itself in the purest 
ultramarine, which, like an immense plain, was spread out 
before me. Far out at sea I saw islands, like floating clouds 
of the most beautiful lilac-color, and perceived Vesuvius 
where the dark column of smoke became blue in the far hori- 
zon. The surface of the sea seemed perfectly still, yet the 
lofty billows, as blue and clear as the ether itself, broke 
against the shore on which I stood, and sounded like thunder 
among the mountains. 

My eye was riveted like my foot ; my whole soul breathed 
rapture It seemed as if that which was physical within me, 
heart and blood, became spirit, and infused itself into it that 
it might float forth between these two, the infinite sea and the 
heaven above it. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I was 
compelled to weep like a child. 

Not far from the place where I stood was a large white 
building, against the foundations of which the waves broke. 
Its lowest story, which lay to the street, consisted of an open 
colonnade, within which stood the carriages of travellers. It 
was the hotel of Terracina, the largest and the handsomest 
upon the whole way between Rome and Naples. 

The cracking of whips reechoed from the wall of rocks ; 
a carriage with four horses rolled up to the hotel. Armed 
servants sat on the seat at the back of the carriage ; a pale, 
thin gentleman, wrapped in a large bright-colored dressing- 
gown, stretched himself within it. The postilion dismounted 
and cracked his long whip several times, whilst fresh horses 
were put to. The stranger wished to proceed, but as he de- 
sired to have an escort over the mountains where Fra Diavolo 
and Cesari had bold descendants, he was obliged to wait a 
quarter of an hour, and now scolded, half in English and half 
in Italian, at the people’s laziness, and at the torments and 
1 Diderik of Born. — Author’s Note, 


TERRACINA. 


159 

sufferings which travellers had to endure, and at length knot- 
ted up his pocket-handkerchief into a night-cap, which he 
drew on his head, and then throwing himself into a corner of 
the carriage, closed his eyes, and seemed to resign himself to 
his fate. 

I perceived that it was an Englishman, who already, in ten 
days, had travelled through the north and the middle of Italy, 
and in that time had made himself acquainted with this 
country ; had seen Rome in one day, and was now going to 
Naples to ascend Vesuvius, and then by the steam- vessel to 
Marseilles, to gain a knowledge, also, of the south of France, 
which he hoped to do in a still shorter time. At length eight 
well-armed horsemen arrived, the postilion cracked his whip, 
and the carriage and the out-riders vanished through the gate 
between the tall yellow rocks. 

“ With all his escort and all his weapons, he is, however, 
not so safe as my strangers,’’ said a little, square-built fellow, 
who played with his whip. The English must be very fond 
of travelling ; they always go at a gallop ; they are queer 
birds — Santa Philomena di Napoli 

Have you many travellers in your carriage ? ” inquired I. 

A heart in every corner,” replied he. “ You see, that makes 
a good four : but in the cabriolet there is only one. If the 
signor wishes to see Naples, that he can the day after to- 
morrow, while the sun still shines on Saint Elmo.” 

We soon agreed, and I was thus relieved from the embar- 
rassment in which my entire want of money had placed me.^ 

“You will perhaps wish to have earnest-money, signor ? ” 
asked the vettiirino, and held out a five-paolo piece between 
his fingers. 

“ Reserve the place for me, with board, and a good bed,” 
replied I. “ Do we set off in the morning ? ” 

“ Yes, if it please Saint Antonio and my horses,” said he, 
“we shall set off at three o’clock. We shall have twice to go 

1 When people travel with vettiirini^ they pay nothing beforehand ; but, 
on the contrary, receive money from them as an earnest that their honesty 
is to be relied upon. The vetturini also provide board and lodging for the 
whole journey. All these expenses are included in the agreement which 
is then made. — Author's Note. 


1 6o the impro visa tore. 

to the Pass Bureau, and three times to be written in the pa- 
pers ; to-morrow is our hardest day.’’ With these words he 
lifted his cap, and, nodding, left me. 

They showed me to a chamber which looked out to the sea, 
where the fresh wind blew, and the billows heaved themselves, 
presenting a picture very dissimilar to the Campagna, and yet 
its vast extent led my thoughts to my home there, and the old 
Domenica. It troubled me now that I had not visited her 
more industriously ; she loved me with her entire heart, and 
was certainly the only one who did so. Excellenza, Fran- 
cesca, yes, they also had some affection for me, but it was of 
a peculiar kind. Benefits bound us together, and where these 
could not be mutual there must always remain, between giver 
and receiver, a gulf, which years and days indeed might cover 
with the climbing plants of devotion, but never could fill up. 
I thought upon Bernardo and Annunciata ; my lips tasted salt 
drops which came from my eyes ; or, perhaps, from the sea 
below me, for the billows actually dashed high upon the walls. 

Next morning, before day, I rolled with the vettiirino and 
his strangers away from Terracina. We drew up at the fron- 
tiers just at dawn. All dismounted from the carriage, while 
our passports were inspected. I now for the first time saw 
my companions properly. Among these was a man of about 
thirty, rather bland, and with blue eyes, who excited my atten- 
tion ; I must have seen him before, but where I could not 
remember ; the few words I heard him speak betrayed him to 
be a foreigner. 

We were detained a very long time by the passports, be- 
cause most of them were in foreign languages, which the sol- 
diers did not understand. In the mean time, the stranger of 
whom I have spoken took out a book of blank paper, and 
sketched the place where we stood ; the two high towers by 
the gate, through which the road passed, the picturesque caves 
just by, and, in the background, the little town upon the 
mountain. 

I stepped nearer to him, and he turned my attention to .he 
beautiful grouping of the goats which stood in the largest 
cave. At the same moment they sprang out ; a great bundle 
of fagots, which had lain in one of the lesser openings of 


AN OLD ACQUAINTAACE. 


i6i 


the cave, and which served as door to the descent, was with- 
drawn, and the goats skipped out two and two, like the ani- 
mals which went out of Noah’s ark. A very little peasant lad 
brought up the rear ; his little pointed hat, round which a 
piece of twine was tied, the torn stockings, and sandals, to 
which the short, brown cloak, which he had thrown around 
him, gave him a picturesque appearance. The goats tripped 
up above the cave among the low bushes, whilst the boy, seat- 
ing himself upon a piece of rock which projected above ttie 
cave, looked at us and the painter, who drew him and the 
whole scene. 

“ Maledetto / ” we heard the vetturino exclaim, and saw him 
running towards us at full speed : there was something amiss 
about the passports. ‘‘ It was certainly with mine,” thought 
I, anxiously, and the blood mounted to my cheeks. The 
stranger scolded because of the ignorance of the soldiers 
who could not read, and we followed the vetturino up into one 
of the towers, where we found five or six men half-stretched 
over the table, on which our passports lay spread out 

“ Who is called Frederick ? ” inquired one of the most im- 
portant-looking of the men at the table. 

‘‘ That is I,” replied the stranger ; my name is Frederick, 
in Italian Federigo.” 

“Thus, then, Federigo the Sixth.” 

“ O no ! that is my king’s name which stands at the top of 
my passport” 

“ Indeed ! ” said the man, and slowly read aloud, “ ‘ Frederic 
Six, par la grace de Dieu Roi de Danemarc, des Vandales, 
des Gothes, etc.’ — But what is that?” exclaimed the man; 
“ are you a Vandal ? they are actually a barbarous people ? ” 

“Yes,” replied the stranger, laughing; ‘‘I am a barbarian 
who am come to Italy to be civilized. My name stands be- 
low; it is Frederick, like my king’s ; Frederick, or Federigo.” 

“ Is he an Englishman ? ” asked one of the writers. 

“ O no ! ” replied another, “ thou confoundest all nations 
together ; thou canst surely read that he is out of the north ; 
he is a Russian.” 

Federigo — Denmark — the name struck my soul like a 
flash of lightning. It was, indeed, the friend of my childhood ; 

II 


i 62 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


my mother’s lodger, him with whom I had been into the cata- 
combs, who had given me his beautiful silver watch, and 
drawn lovely pictures for me. 

The passport was correct, and the barrier soldier found it 
doubly so, when a paolo was put into his hand that he might 
not any longer detain us. 

As soon as we were out again, I made myself known to 
him ; it was actually he whom I supposed our Danish Fed- 
erigo, who had lived with my mother. He expressed the most 
lively joy at again meeting with me, called me still his little 
Antonio. There were a thousand things to be inquired after, 
and mutually communicated. He induced my former neigh- 
bor in the cabriolet to exchange places with him, and we now 
sat together ; yet once more he pressed my hand, laughed and 
joked. 

I related to him in a few words the occurrences of my life, 
from the day when I went to Domenica’s hut, till the time 
when I became abbe, and then, making a great leap forwards, 
without touching upon my late adventures, ended by shortly 
saying, ‘‘ I now go to Naples.” 

He remembered very well the promise which he had made, 
the last time we saw each other in the Campagna, to take me 
with him for one day to Rome ; but shortly after that he re- 
ceived a letter from his native country, which obliged him to 
take the long journey home, so that he could not see me again. 
His love for Italy, however, in his native land, became only 
stronger every year, and at length drove him there again. 

“And now, for the first time, I enjoy everything properly,” 
said he ; “ drink in great draughts of the pure air, and visit 
again every spot where I was before. Here my heart’s father- 
land beckons me ; here is coloring ; here is form. Italy is a 
cornucopia of blessing ! ” 

Time and the way flew on so rapidly in Federigo’s society, 
that I marked not our long detention in the Pass Bureau at 
Fondi. He knew perfectly how to seize upon the poetically 
beautiful in everything ; he became doubly dear and interest- 
ing to me, and was the best angel of consolation for my 
afflicted heart. 

“ There lies my dirty Itri ! ” exclaimed he, and pointed to 


FRA DIAVOLO'S NATIVE CITY. 1 63 

the city before us. “ You would hardly credit it, Antonio, 
but in the north, where all the streets are so clean, and so 
regular, and so precise, I have longed for a dirty Italian town, 
where there is something characteristic, something just for a 
painter. These narrow, dirty streets, these gray, grimy stone 
balconies, full of stockings and shirts ; windows without regu- 
larity, one up, one down, some great, some small ; here steps 
four or five ells wide leading up to a door, where the mother 
sits with her hand spindle ; and there a lemon-tree, with great 
yellow fruit, hanging over the wall. 

Yes, that does make a picture ! But those cultivated 
streets, where the houses stand like soldiers, where steps and 
balconies are shorn away, one can make nothing at all of I ” 
Here is the native city of Fra Diavolo 1 exclaimed those 
inside the carriage, as we rolled into the narrow, dirty Itri, 
which Federigo found so picturesquely beautiful. The city 
lay high upon a rock beside a deep precipice. The principal 
street was in many places only wide enough for one carriage. 

The greater part of the first stories of the houses were 
without windows, and instead of these, a great broad doorway, 
through which one looked down, as if into a dark cellar. 
Everywhere was there a swarm of dirty children and women, 
and all reached out their hands to beg ; the women laughed, 
and the children screamed and made faces at us. One did 
not dare to put one’s head out of the carriage, lest it should 
get smashed between it and the projecting houses, from which 
the stone balconies in some places hung out so far above us 
that it seemed as if we drove through an archway. I saw 
black walls on either hand, for the smoke found its way 
through the open doors up the sooty walls. 

‘‘ It is a glorious city ! ” said Federigo, and clapped his 
hands. 

‘‘ A robber city it is,” said the vetturino^ when we had 
passed through it ; the police compelled one half of the people 
to flit to quite another city behind the mountains, and brought 
in other inhabitants, but that helped nothing. All runs to 
weed that is planted here. But then, poor folks must live.” 

The whole neighborhood here, upon the great high-road be- 
tween Rome and Naples, invites to robbery. There are places 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


164 

of deep concealment on every hand, in the thick olive woods, 
in the mountain caves, in the walls of the Cyclops, and many 
other ruins. 

Federigo directed my attention to an isolated colossal wall 
overgrown with honeysuckle and climbing plants. It was 
Cicero’s grave ! it was here that the dagger of the assassin 
struck the fugitive : here the lips of eloquence became dust. 

“The vetturino drive us to Cicero’s villa in Mo1a di 
Gaeta,” said Federigo. “ It is the best hotel, and has a pros- 
pect which rivals that of Naples.” 

The form of the hills was most beautiful, the vegetation 
most luxuriant; presently we rolled along an alley of tall 
laurels, and saw before us the hotel which Federigo had men- 
tioned. The head-waiter stood ready wuth his napkin, and 
waited for us on the broad steps which were ornamented with 
busts and flowers. 

“ Excellenza, is it you ? ” exclaimed he, as he assisted a 
somewhat portly lady out of the carriage. 

I noticed her ; her countenance was pretty, very pretty, and 
the jet-black eyes told me immediately that she was a Neapol- 
itan. 

“ Ah yes, it is I,” replied she ; “ here am I come with my 
waiting- worn an as cicisbeo ; that is my whole train — I have not 
a single man-servant with me. What do you think of my 
courage in travelling thus from Rome to Naples? ” 

She threw herself like an invalid on the sofa, supported her 
pretty cheek upon her round little hand, and began to study 
the list of eatables, Brodetto, cipollette^ facioli. You know 
that I cannot bear soup, else I should have a figure like Cas- 
tello dell’ Ovo. A little animelle derate^ and some fennel, is 
enough for me ; we must really dine again in Santa Agatha. 
Ah, now I breathe more freely,” continued she, untying the 
strings of her cap. “ Now I feel my Neapolitan air blowing — 
hella Napoli P'* exclaimed she, hastily opening the door of the 
balcony, wdiich looked on the sea ; and spreading out her arms, 
she drank in great draughts- of the fresh air. 

“ Can we already see Naples ? ” inquired I. 

“ Not yet,” replied Federigo ; “but Hesperia, Armida’s en- 
chanted garden.” 


ORANGE GARDEN AT MOLO DI G.ETA. 1 65 

We went out into the balcony, which was built of stone, and 
looked out over the garden. What magnificence! — richer 
than fancy can create to itself! Below us was a wood of 
lemon and orange trees, which were overladen with fruit ; the 
branches bent themselves down to the ground with their 
golden load ; cypresses gigantically tall as the poplars of the 
North of Italy, formed the boundary of the garden; they 
seemed doubly dark against the clear, heaven-blue sea which 
stretched itself behind them, and dashed its waves above the 
remains of the baths and temples of antiquity, outside the 
low wall of the garden. Ships and boats, with great white 
sails, floated into the peaceful harbor, around which Gaeta,' 
with its lofty buildings, stretches itself A little mountain 
elevates itself above the city, and this is crowned with a ruin. 

My eye was dazzled with the great beauty of the scene. 

Do you see Vesuvius ? — How it smokes ! ’’ said Federigo, 
and pointed to the left, where the rocky coast elevated itself, 
like light clouds, which reposed upon the indescribably beau- 
tiful sea. 

With the soul of a child I gave myself up to the rich mag- 
nificence around me, and Federigo was as happy as myself 
We could not resist going below under the tall orange-trees, 
and I kissed the golden fruit which hung upon the branches ; 
took from the many which lay on the ground, and threw them 
like golden balls up in the air, and over the sulphur-blue lake. 

Beautiful Italy ! ’’ shouted Federigo, triumphantly. Yes, 
thus stood thy image before me in the distant North. In my 
remembrance blew this air which I now inspire with every 
breath I draw. I thought of thy olive groves when I saw our 
willows ; I dreamed of the abundance of the oranges when I 
saw the golden apples in the peasants’ gardens beside the fra- 
grant clover-field ; but the green waters of the Baltic never 
become blue like the beautiful Mediterranean ; the heavens 
of the North never become so high, so rich in color, as the 
warm, glorious south. Its gladness was inspiration, its speech 
became poetry. 

“ What longings I had in my home ? ” said he. “ They are 

^ There Aeneas buried his nurse, Cajeta, after whom this city is called. 
— • Author’s Note. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


1 66 

happier who have never seen Paradise, than they who, having 
seen it, are driven forth, never to return. My home is beau- 
tiful ; Denmark is a flowery garden, which can measure it- 
self with anything on the other side the Alps ; it has beech- 
woods and the sea. But what is earthly beauty compared 
with heavenly ? Italy is the land of imagination and beauty ; 
doubly happy are they who salute it for the second time ! ’’ 

And he kissed, as I had done, the golden oranges ; tears 
ran down his cheeks, and throwing himself on my neck, his 
lips burned on my forehead. With this my heart opened itself 
to him entirely ; he was not indeed a stranger to me, he was 
the friend of my childhood. I related to him my life’s last 
great adventure, and felt my heart lighter by the communica- 
tion ; by speaking Annunciata’s name aloud, by telling of my 
suffering and my misfortune ; and Federigo listened to me with 
the sympathy of an honest friend. I told him of my flight, 
of my adventure in the robbers’ cave ; of Fulvia, and what I 
knew of Bernardo’s recovery. He offered me his hand with 
the truest friendliness, and looked, with his light blue eyes, 
sympathizingly into my soul. 

A suppressed sigh was heard close to us behind the hedge ; 
but the tall laurels, and the orange-branches, bowed down 
with their fruit, concealed all ; any one might very well have 
stood there and heard every word I said ; of that I had not 
thought. We turned the branches aside, and close beside us, 
before the entrance to the ruins of Cicero’s bath, sat the Nea- 
politan signora, bathed in tears. 

‘‘ Ah, young gentleman,” exclaimed she, “ I am entirely 
guiltless of this. I was sitting here already when you came 
with your friend ; it is so charming here, and so cool ! You 
talked so loud, and I was in the middle of your history before 
I remarked that it was quite a private affair. You have af- 
fected me deeply. You shall have no cause to repent that I 
have become privy to it ; my tongue is as dumb as the dead.” 

Somewhat embarrassed I bowed before the strange signora, 
who had thus become acquainted with my heart’s history. At 
length Federigo sought to console me by saying that nobody 
knew to what it might lead. 

‘‘ I am,” said he, a real Turk in my reliance on fate ; be* 


THE NEAPOLITAN SIGNORA 


167 

sides, after all, there are no state secrets in the whole of it ^ 
every heart has, in its archives, such painful memoirs. Per- 
haps it was her own youth’s history which she heard in yours j 
I can believe it, for people have seldom tears for other’s 
troubles, excepting when they resemble their own. We are 
all egotists, even in our greatest sufferings and anxieties.” 

We were soon again in the carriage, rolling on our w^ay. 
The whole country round us was of a luxuriant character ; 
the broad-leaved aloe grew close by the road to the height of 
a man, and was used as a fence. The large weeping-willow 
seemed to kiss, with its depending, ever- moving branches, its 
own shadow upon the ground. 

Towards sunset we crossed the river Garigliano, where for- 
merly stood the old Mintura ; it was the yellow Liris, which I 
saw overgrown with reeds, as when Marius concealed himself 
here from the cruel Sylla. But we were yet a long way from 
Santa Agatha. 

The darkness descended, and the signora became extremely 
uneasy on account of robbers, and looked out continually to 
see that nobody cut away the luggage from behind the car- 
riage. In vain the vetticrino cracked his whip, and repeated 
his maledetto^ for the dark night advanced faster than he did. 
At length we saw lights before us. We were at Santa Agatha. 

The signora was wonderfully silent at supper; but it did 
not escape me how much her eye rested upon me. And the 
next morning, before our journey, w^hen I went to drink my 
glass of coffee,^ she came up to me with great amiability. We 
were quite alone ; she offered me her hand, and said, good- 
humoredly and familiarly, — 

‘‘You do not bear any ill-will towards me? I am perfectly 
ashamed before you ; and yet I am quite guiltless of the whole 
thing ” 

I prayed her to make herself easy, and assured her that I 
had the greatest confidence in her womanly spirit. 

“ Yet you know nothing of me,” said she, “ but you may do ; 
orobably my husband can be useful to you in the great foreign 
city. You can visit me and him. You, perhaps, have no ac- 

1 In Italy, people do not drink their coffee in cups, but in wine-glasses 
—Author\s Note. 


i68 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


quaintance j and a young man can so easily make an error in 
his choice.” 

I thanked her heartily for her sympathy. It affected me. 
One, however, meets with good people everywhere. 

Naples is a dangerous city ! ” said she ; but Federigo en- 
tered, and interrupted us. 

We were soon again seated in the carriage. The glass 
windows were put down ; we became all better acquainted as 
we approached our common goal — Naples. Federigo was 
enraptured with the picturesque groups which we met. Wo- 
men, with red cloaks turned over their heads, rode past on 
asses, a young child at the breast or sleeping with an elder 
one in the basket at their feet. A whole family rode upon 
one horse ; the wife behind the husband, and rested her arm 
or head against his shoulder, and seemed to sleep ; the man 
had before him his little boy, who sat and played with the 
whip. It was such a group as Pignelli has given in his beau- 
tiful scenes out of the life of the people. 

The air was gray ; it rained a little ; we could neither see 
Vesuvius nor Capri. The corn stood juicy and green in the 
field under the tall fruit-trees and poplars, round which the 
vines enwreathed themselves. 

‘‘ Do you see,” said the signora, ‘‘ our Campagna is a table 
well spread with bread, fruit, and wine ; and you will soon see 
our gay city and our swelling sea ! ” 

Towards evening we approached it. The splendid Toledo 
Street lay before us ; it was really a corso. On every hand 
were illumined shops ; tables which stood in the street, laden 
with oranges and figs, were lit up by lamps and gayly colored 
lanterns. The whole street, with its innumerable lights in 
the open air, looked like a stream sprinkled over with stars. 
On each side stood lofty houses, wdth balconies before every 
window, nay, often quite round the corner, and within these 
stood ladies and gentlemen, as if it were still a merry carni- 
val. One carriage passed another, and the horses slipped on 
the smooth slabs of lava with which the street was paved. 
Now a little cabriolet on two wheels came by ; from five to 
six people sat in the little carriage, ragged lads stood behind 
it, and beneath, in the shaking net, lay quite snugly a half- 


NAPLES. 


169 

naked lazzarone. One single horse drew the whole crowd, 
and yet it went at a gallop. There w^as a fire kindled before 
a corner house, before which lay two half-naked fellows, clad 
only in drawers, and with the vest fastened with one single 
button, who played at cards. Hand-organs and hurdygur- 
dies were playing, to which women were singing ; ail were 
screaming, all running one among another — soldiers, Greeks, 
Turks, English. I felt myself transported into quite another 
world ; a more southern life than that which I had known 
breathed around me. The signora clapped her hands at the 
sight of her merry Naples. Rome,” she said, ^^was a grave 
beside her laughing city.” 

We turned into the Largo del Gastello, one of the largest 
squares in Naples, which leads down to the sea, and the same 
noise and the same crowd met us here. Around us we saw 
illuminated theatres, on the outside of which were bright pic- 
tures, which represented the principal scenes of the pieces 
which were being performed within. Aloft, on a scaffold, 
stormed a Bajazzo family. The wife cried out to the specta- 
tors ; the husband blew the trumpet, and the youngest son 
beat them both with a great riding-whip, whilst a little horse 
stood upon its hind-legs in the back scene, and read out of an 
open book. A man stood, and fought and sang in the midst 
of a crowd of sailors, who sat in a corner ; he was an impro- 
visatore. An old fellow read aloud, out of a book, Orlando 
Furioso,” as I was told ; his audience were applauding him 
just as we passed by. 

“Monte Vesuvio ! ” cried the signora ; and I now saw, at 
the end of the street, where the light-house stood, Vesuvius, 
lifting itself high in the air, and the fire-red lava, like a stream 
of blood, rolling down from its side. Above the crater hung 
a cloud, shining red from the reflected glow of the lava ; but 
I could see only the whole for a moment. The carriage rolled 
away with us across the square to the Hotel Casa Tedesca. 
Close beside this stood a little puppet theatre, and a still 
smaller one was erected before it, where punchinello made his 
merry leaps, peeped, twirled himself about, and made his 
funny speeches. All around was laughter. Only very few 
paid attention to the monk who stood at the opposite corner, 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


170 

and preached from one of the projecting stone steps. An old 
broad-shouldered fellow, who looked like a sailor, held the 
cross, on which was the picture of the Redeemer. The 
monk cast flaming glances at the wooden theatre of the pup- 
pets, which drew the attention of the people away from his 
speech. 

“ Is this Lent ? ” I heard him say. Is this the time con- 
secrated to Heaven ? the time in which we should, humbled in 
the flesh, wander in sackcloth and in ashes ? Carnival time is 
it ? Carnival always, night and day, year out and year in, till 
you post down into the depths of hell ! There you can twirl, 
there you can grin, can dance, and keep festino in the eternal 
pool and torment of hell ! ” 

His voice raised itself more and more ; the soft Neapolitan 
dialect rung in my ear like swaying verse, and the words 
melted melodiously one into another. But all the more his 
voice ascended, ascended also that of punchinello, and he 
leaped all the more comically, and was all the more applauded 
by the people ; then the monk, in a holy rage, snatched the 
cross from the hand of the man who bore it, rushed forward 
with it, and, exhibiting the crucified, exclaimed, ‘‘ See, here is 
the true punchinello ! Him shall you see, him shall you hear ! 
For that you shall have eyes and ears ! Kyrie eleison ! ” and, 
impressed by the holy sign, the whole crowd dropped upon 
their knees, and exclaimed with one voice, “ Kyrie eleison ! ” 
Even the puppet-player let fall his punchinello. I stood be- 
side our carriage, wonderfully struck by the scene. 

Federigo hastened to obtain a carriage to take the signora 
to her home. She extended her hand to him, with her thanks ; 
then, throwing her arm around my neck, I felt a warm kiss 
upon my lips, and heard her say, ‘‘Welcome to Naples!’’ 
And, from the carriage which conveyed her away, she waved 
kisses with her hand, and we ascended to the chamber in the 
hotel which the waiter assigned to us. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


PAIN AND CONSOLATION. — NEARER ACQUAINTANCE WITH 
THE SIGNORA. — THE LETTER. — HAVE I MISUNDERSTOOD 
HER } 

FTER Federigo was in bed, I continued sitting in the 



Jr\ open balcony, which looked into the street, with Vesu- 
vius before me. The extraordinary world, in which I seemed 
to be as in a dream, forbade me to sleep. By degrees it be- 
came more and more quiet in the street below me : the lights 
were extinguished : it was already past midnight. My eye 
rested upon the mountain, where the pillar of fire raised itself 
up from the crater, towards the blood-red, broad mass of 
cloud, which, united to this, seemed like a mighty pine-tree 
of fire and fiame : the lava streams were the roots, with which 
it embraced the mountain. 

My soul was deeply impressed by this great spectacle — the 
voice of God, which spoke from the volcano, as from the still 
silent night-heaven. It was one of those moments which oc- 
curs now and then, when, so to say, the soul stands face to 
face with its God. I comprehended something of his omnip- 
otence, wisdom, and goodness — comprehended something of 
Him, whose servants are the lightning and the whirlwind ; 
yet, without whose permission not even a sparrow falls to the 
earth. My own life stood clearly before me : I saw in the 
whole a wonderful guiding and directing ; every misfortune 
even, and every sorrow, had brought about a change for the 
better. The unhappy death of my mother by the runaway 
horses, whilst I stood a poor helpless child, seemed to shape 
out for me a better future ; for was not, perhaps, the peculiar 
and nobler reason which afterwards induced Excellenza to 
take charge of my bringing up the circumstance of his having 
been the innocent cause of my misfortune ? The strife be- 


172 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


tween Mariuccia and Peppo, the fearful moments which 1 
passed in his house, drove me out upon the stream of the 
world j for unless I had dwelt with old Domenica, on the 
dreary Campagna, the attention of Excellenza had perhaps 
never been directed to me. 

Thus I reviewed in thought scene after scene of my life, 
and found the highest wisdom and goodness in the chain of 
events ; nor was it until I came to that last link, that all 
seemed to fall asunder. My acquaintance with Annunciata 
was like a spring day, which in a moment had expanded every 
flower-bud in my soul. With her I could have become every- 
thing : her love would have perfected the happiness of my 
life. Bernardo’s sentiment towards her was not pure like 
mine : even had he suffered for a moment by losing her, his 
pain would have been short : he would soon have learned to 
console himself ; but that Annunciata loved him annihilated 
all my life’s happiness. Here I comprehended not the wisdom 
of the Almighty, and felt nothing but pain, because of all my 
vanished dreams. At that moment a cittern sounded under 
the balcony ; and I saw a man, with a cloak thrown over his 
shoulders, who touched the strings from which trembled notes 
of love. Shortly afterwards, the door of the opposite house 
opened quite softly, and the man vanished behind it — a 
happy lover, who went to kisses and embraces. 

I looked up to the star-bright air — to the brilliant dark 
blue sea which gleamed redly with the reflected light of the 
lava and the eruption. 

Glorious nature ! ” burst forth from my heart. ‘‘ Thou art 
my mistress I Thou claspest me to thy heart — openest to 
me thy heaven, and thy breath kisses me on my lips and 
brow ! Thee will I sing, thy beauty, thj^ holy greatness ! I 
will repeat before the people the deep melodies which thou 
singest in my soul ! Let my heart bleed ; the butterfly which 
struggles upon the needle becomes most beautiful : the stream 
which, hurled as a waterfall from the rock, scatters itself in 
foam, is more glorious ! — that is the poet’s lot. Life is, in- 
deed, only a short dream. When in that other world I again 
meet Annunciata, she will also love me. All pure souls love 
one another : arm in arm the blessed spirits advance towards 
God ! ” 


NEARER ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SIGNORA. 1 73 

Thus dreamed my thoughts ; and courage and power to 
come forth as an improvisatore, as well as a strong delight in 
so doing, filled my soul. One thing alone lay heavily on my 
heart — what would Francesca and Excellenza say to my 
flight from home, and my dehut as improvisatore ? They be- 
lieved me industriously and quietly occupied with my books 
in Rome. This consciousness allowed me to have no rest : 

I determined, therefore, that same night to write to them. 

With filial confidence, I related to them everything which 
had occurred, every single circumstance — my love for An- 
nunciata, and the consolation which alone I found in nature 
and in art ; and concluded with an urgent prayer for an an- 
swer, as favorable as their hearts could give me ; nor before I 
obtained this would I take one step, or come forward in pub- 
lic. Longer than a month they must not let me languish. 

My tears fell upon the letter as I wrote it ; but I felt re- 
lieved by it ; and wLen I had ended it, I quickly slept more 
soundly and calmly than I had done for a long time. 

The following day, Federigo and I arranged our affairs. 
He removed into a new lodging, in one of the side streets. 

I remained at the Casa Tedesca, where I could see Vesuvius 
and the sea, two world’s wonders which were new to me. I 
industriously visited the Museo Bourbonico, the theatres, and 
the promenades ; and during a three days’ residence in the 
foreign city, had made myself very well acquainted with it. 

An invitation for Federigo and me came from Professor * 
Maretti, and his wife Santa. At the first moment I believed 
this to be a mistake, as I knew neither the one nor the other, 
and yet the invitation seemed to have particular reference to 
me : I was to bring Federigo with me. On inquiry, I found 
that Maretti was a very learned man, an antiquarian ; and 
that Signora Santa had lately returned home from a visit in 
Rome. I and Federigo had made her acquaintance on the 
journey. Thus then she was the Neapolitan signora. 

In the course of the evening, Federigo and I went. We 
found a numerous company in a well-lighted saloon, the 
polished marble floor of which reflected the lights ; whilst 
a large scaldino, with a loose iron grating, diffused a mild 
warmth. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


174 

Signora, or, as we now indeed know her name, Santa, met 
us with open arms. Her light blue silk dress was very be- 
coming to her : had she not been so stout, she would have 
been very lovely. She introduced us to her company, and 
prayed us to make ourselves quite at home. 

‘Hnto my house,” said she, enter none but friends: you 
will soon become acquainted with them all.” With this she 
mentioned several names, pointing to different persons. 

‘‘ We talk, we dance, we have a little singing,” said she, 
‘‘and so the time flies on.” 

She pointed out seats to us. A young lady was seated at 
the piano, and sung : it was precisely the very same aria which 
Annunciata had sung in “ Dido ” ; but it sounded with quite 
another expression, and seized upon the soul with a much less 
powerful effect. Yet I was compelled, with the rest, to ap- 
plaud the singer ; and now she struck a few accords, and 
played a lively dance : two or three gentlemen took their 
ladies, and floated over the polished, smooth floor. I with- 
drew myself into a window : a little half-famished looking 
man, with ever-moving, glassy eyes, bowed himself deeply be- 
fore me. I had remarked him, like a little kobold, incessantly 
popping in and out of the door. In order to get up a conver- 
sation, I began to speak of the eruption of Vesuvius, and 
how beautiful the lava-stream was. 

“ That is nothing, my friend,” replied he, “ nothing to the 
'great eruption of 96, which Pliny describes : then the ashes 
flew as far as Constantinople. We have also, in my time, 
gone with umbrellas in Naples, because of the ashes j but be- 
tween Naples and Constantinople there is a difference. The 
classical time excelled us in everything — a time in which we 
should have prayed, “ Serus m co^lum redeas I ” 

I spoke of the theatre of San Carlo ; and the man' went 
back to the car of Thespis, and gave me a treatise on the 
tragic and comic Muses. I dropped a word about the mus- 
tering of the royal troops ; and he immediately went into the 
ancient mode of warfare, and commanding of the whole pha- 
lanx. The only question which he himself asked me was, 
whether I studied the history of art, and gave myself up to 
antiquities. I said that the whole world’s life, everything lay 


NEARER ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SIGNORA. I 75 

near to my heart ; that I felt called upon to be a poet ; and 
the man then clapped his hands, and began to declaim about 
my lyre, — 

“ O decus Phoebi, et dapibus supremi 
Grata testudo Jovis ! ” 

“ Has he now got hold of you ? ’’ said Santa, laughing, and 
coming up to us ; then are you already deep in Sesostris' 
age. But your own times have demands upon you ; there sit 
ladies on the opposite side with whom you must dance.’^ 

“ But I do not dance ; never did dance,” replied I. 

“ But if I,” said she, the lady of the house were to ask 
you to dance with me, you would not refuse.” 

Yes, indeed ; for I should dance so badly that we should 
both of us fall on the smooth floor.” 

“ A beautiful idea ! ” exclaimed she, and skipped across to 
Federigo, and soon were they two floating through the room. 

A lively woman ! ” said the husband, and added, “ and 
handsome, very handsome. Signor Abbe.” 

‘‘ Very handsome,” replied I politely, and then we were, 
Heaven knows how, deep in the Etruscan Vases. He offered 
himself as my guide in the Museo Bourbonico, and explained 
to me what great masters they had been who had painted 
these brittle treasures, in which every line contributed to the 
beauty of the figures in expression of attitude, and who were 
obliged to paint them whilst the clay was warm, it not being 
possible to rub anything out, whilst, on the contrary, every 
line which had once been made must remain there. 

“ Are you yet deep in history ? ” inquired Santa, who again 
came up to us. The consequence then follows ! ” exclaimed 
she, laughing, and drew me away from the pedant, whilst she 
whispered, half aloud, Do not let my husband annoy you ! 
You must be gay, must take part in the gayety ! I will seat 
you here ; you shall relate to me what you have seen, hear i, 
and enjoyed.” 

I then told her how much Naples pleased me ; told her 
of that which had given me most delight ; of a little trip I 
had this afternoon made through the grotto of Posilippo, be- 
sides which I had discovered, in a thick vine grove, the ruins 
of a little church, which had been converted into a family 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


176 

dwelling, whilst the friendly children, and the handsome 
woman who had served me wdth wine, had greatly contributed 
to make it all only the more romantic. 

‘‘ Then you have been making acquaintances ? ’’ said she, 
laughing, and lifting her forefinger ) nay, there is no need 
for you to be confused about it : at your age the heart does 
not amuse itself with a Lent sermon.’^ 

This was about all that I learned this evening of Signora 
Santa and her husband. There was something in her manner 
that expressed itself in an ease, a naivete peculiar to the Nea- 
politans, a cordiality which wonderfully attracted me to her. 
Her husband was erudite, and that was no fault ; he would 
be the best guide for me in the Museum. And so he was \ 
and Santa, whom I often visited, became to me more and 
more attractive. The attentions which she showed to me flat- 
tered me, and her sympathy opened my heart and my lips. I 
knew but very little of the world, was in many things a com- 
plete child, and grasped, therefore, the first hand which ex- 
tended itself kindly towards me, and, in return for a hand- 
pressure, gave my whole confidence. 

One day. Signora Santa touched upon the most important 
moment of my life, my separation from Annunciata, and I 
found consolation and relief in speaking freely of it to the 
sympathizing lady. That she could see many faults in Ber- 
nardo, after I had given a description of him, was a sort of 
consolation to me ; but that she could also find failings in 
Annunciata I could not pardon. 

‘‘ She is too small for the stage,” said she, altogether too 
slenderly made ; that certainly you will concede to me ? Some 
substance there must be as long as we belong to this world. 
I know, to be sure, right well, that here, in Naples, all the 
young men were captivated by her beauty. It was the voice, 
the incomparably fine voice, which transported them into the 
spirit-world, where her fine form had its abode. If I were a 
man, I should never fall in love with such a being ; I should 
actually fear her falling to pieces at my first embrace.” 

She made me smile, and that, perhaps, thought I, was her 
intention. To Annunciata’s talent, mind, and pure heart, she 
did the fullest justice. 


NEARER ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SIGNORA. 1 77 

During the last evening, inspired by the beauty of the sur- 
rounding country and my own excited state of feeling, I had 
written some short poems: ‘‘Tasso in Captivity,’’ “The Beg- 
ging Monk,” and some other little lyrical pieces, which per- 
fectly expressed my unhappy love, and the shattered picture- 
world which floated in my soul. I began to read them to 
Santa, but in the middle of the first my feelings, which I had 
there described, so entirely overpowered me, that I burst into 
tears ; with that she pressed my hand, and wept with me. 

With these tears she bound me forever ! 

Her house became to me a home. I regularly longed for 
the hour when I should again converse with her. Her hu- 
mor, the comical ideas which she often started, made me fre- 
quently laugh, although I was compelled to feel how very 
different was Annunciata’s wit and merriment — how much 
nobler and purer ; but then, as no Annunciata lived for me, I 
was grateful and devoted to Santa. 

“ Have you lately,” she asked me one day, “seen the hand- 
some woman, near Posilippo, and the romantic house which is 
half a church ? ” 

“ Only once since,” I replied- 

“ She was very friendly ? ” inquired Santa, “ the children 
were gone out as guides, and the husband was on the lake. 
Take care of yourself, signor : on that side of Naples lies the 
under-world ! ” 

I honestly assured her that nothing but the romantic scen- 
ery drew me towards the grotto of Posilippo. 

“ Dear friend,” said she, confidentially, “ I know the thing 
better ! Your heart was full of love, of the first strong love 
to her, whom I will not call unworthy, but who, however, did 
not act openly towards you ! Do not say one word to me 
against this : she occupied your soul, and you have torn your- 
self from this image — have given her up, as you yourself 
have assured me, and therefore there is a vacancy in your 
soul which craves to be filled. Formerly you lived alone in 
your books and your dreams ; the singer has drawn you down 
into the world of human life ; you are become flesh and 
blood, like the rest of us, and these assert their right. And 
12 


178 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


why should they not? I never judge a young man with se- 
verity ; and besides this, they can act as they will ! ’’ 

I objected to this last assertion, but as to the desolation 
which remained in my soul after the loss of Annunciata, she 
was right in that ; but what could supply the place of that lost 
image ? 

“ You are not like other people ! ’’ continued she ; “ you are 
a poetical being ; and do you see, even the ideal Annunciata 
required something more of a realist ; for that reason she 
preferred Bernardo, who was so much inferior to you in soul. 
But,” added she, you beguile me to talk to you as it is 
hardly becoming for me, as a lady, to do ; your wonderful 
simplicity and your little knowledge of the world makes one 
become as naive in speech as you are in thoughts ; ” and with 
this she laughed aloud and patted me on the cheek. 

In the evening, when I sat alone with Federigo, and he be- 
came merry and confidential, he told me of the happy days 
which he spent in Rome, in which his heart also had beaten 
strongly ; Mariuccia had played her part in these adventures. 

Many young men came to the house of the Professor Ma- 
retti ; they danced well, talked excellently in company, re- 
ceived glances of favor from the ladies, and were esteemed by 
the men. I had known them but for a short time, and yet 
they confided to me already their hearts’ affairs, which I shrunk 
from doing, even with Bernardo, and which only my ingrained 
affection for him made me tolerate in him ! Yes, they were 
all different from me. Was Santa actually right ? should I 
oe only a poetical being in this w^orld ? That Annunciata 
really loved Bernardo was a sufficient proof thereof ; my spir- 
itual /was perhaps dear to her, but I myself could not win 
her. 

I had now been a month in Naples, and yet had heard 
nothing either of her or of Bernardo. At that time the post 
brought me a letter ; I seized it with a throbbing heart, looked 
at the seal and the direction to divine of its contents. I recog- 
nized the Borghese arms and the old Excellenza’s handwrit- 
ing. I hardly dared to open it. 

“ Eternal mother of God ! ” I prayed, be gracious to me 1 
Thy will directs all things for the best ! ” 


THE LETTER. 


179 


I opened the letter and read : — 

“ Signor, — Whilst I believed that you were availing your- 
self of the opportunity which I afforded to you of learning 
something, and of becoming a useful member of society, all 
is going on quite otherwise ; quite differently to my intentions 
regarding you. As the innocent occasion of your mother’s 
death, have I done this for you. We are quits. 

“ Make your debut as improvisatore, as poet, when and how 
you will, but give me this one proof of your so much-talked-of 
gratitude, never to connect my name, my solicitude for you, 
with your public life. The very great service which you might 
have rendered me by learning something, you would not ren- 
der ; the very small one of calling me benefactor is so repug- 
nant to me, that you cannot do anything more offensive to me 
than to do that ! ” 

The blood stagnated at my heart ; my hands dropped pow- 
erless on my knees ; but I could not weep ; that would have 
relieved my soul. 

‘‘Jesus, Maria ! ” stammered I ; my head sank down on the 
table. Deaf, without thought, without pain even, I lay immov- 
ably in this position. I had not a word with which to pray to 
God and the saints ; they also, like the world, seemed to have 
forsaken me. 

At that moment Federigo entered. 

“ Art thou ill, Antonio ? ” asked he, pressing my hand ; 
“ one must not thus wall oneself in so with one’s grief. Who 
knows whether thou wouldst have been happy with Annun- 
ciata ? That which is best for us always happens ; that I 
have found more than once, although not in the most agree- 
able way. 

Without a word I handed to him the letter, which he read ; 
in the mean time my tears found a free course, but I was 
ashamed to let him see me weeping, and turned away from 
him ; he pressed me in his arms and said, “ Weep freely ; 
weep all thy grief out, and then thou wilt be better.” 

When I was somewhat calmer, he inquired from me whether 
I had taken any resolve. A thought then passed through my 


i8o 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


soul ; I would reconcile the Madonna to me, to whose service 
I was dedicated as a child ; in her had I ^ found a protector, 
and my future belonged to her. 

It is best,’’ said I, that I become a monk ; for that my 
fate has prepared me ; there is nothing more for me in this 
world. I am besides that only a poetical being, not a man, 
like the rest of you ! Yes, in the bosom of the Church is a 
home and peace for me ! ” 

‘‘Be reasonable, however, Antonio !” said Federigo to me. 
“ Let Excellenza, let the world see that there is power in thee ; 
let the adverse circumstances of life elevate and not depress 
thee. I think and hope, however, that thou wilt be only a 
monk for this evening ; to-morrow, when the sun shines 
warmly into thy heart, thou wilt not be one. Thou art really 
an improvisatore, a poet, and hast soul and knowledge. Every- 
thing will be glorious, excellent. To-morrow we will take a 
cabriolet, and drive to Herculaneum and Pompeii, and will 
ascend Vesuvius. We have not been there; thou must be 
amused and brought again into humor, and when all the dark 
fumes are dissipated, then will we talk about the future quite 
rationally. Now thou goest with me to the Toledo ; we will 
amuse ourselves. Life speeds on at a gallop, and all of us 
have, like the snail, our burden upon our backs, it matters 
not whether of lead or mere playthings, if they are alike op- 
pressive.” 

His solicitude for me affected me ; I was still supported by 
a friend. Without a word I took my hat and followed him. 

Music was merrily sounding in the square from one of the 
little wooden theatres ; we remained standing before it among 
a great crowd of people. The whole artistic family stood 
as usual upon the stage ; the man and woman, in gay clothes, 
hoarse with shouting ; a pale little boy, with a care-depressed 
countenance, and in a white dress, stood and played upon the 
violin, whilst two little sisters twirled about in a lively dance. 
The whole thing appeared to me very tragical. 

“ The unhappy beings I ” thought I, “ uncertain as theirs, 
lies also my fate.” I linked my arm closely in Federigo’s, and 
could not repress the sigh which ascended from my breast. 

“ Now be calm and rational,” whispered Federigo. “ First 


THE LETTER. 


l8l 

of all, we will take a little walk to let the wind blow on thy 
red eyes, and then we will visit Signora Maretti ; she will 
either laugh thee quite gay again, or else weep with thee, till 
thou art tired ; she can do that better than I can.’^ 

Thus for some time we wandered up and down the great 
street, and then went to the house of Maretti. 

“ At length you are come one evening out of the common 
course/’ exclaimed Santa kindly as we entered. 

Signor Antonio is in his elegiac mood ; it must be re- 
moved by mirth, and to whom could I bring him better than 
to you. To-morrow we drive to Herculaneum and Pompeii, 
ascend Vesuvius : if we could only be blessed with an erup- 
tion.” 

Carpe DiemP broke forth from Maretti. I should de- 
light to make the journey with you, but not to ascend Vesu- 
vius ; only to see how it goes with the excavations in Pompeii. 
I have just received from there some little glass ornaments of 
various colors ; these I have arranged according to their 
shades, and have within an opusculum on them. You must 
see these treasures,” said he, turning to Federigo, ‘‘and give 
me a hint with regard to color. And you,” continued he, 
clapping me on the shoulder, “ you shall begin to be merry, 
and then afterwards we will empty a glass of Falernian, and 
sing with Horace, — 

“ ^ Ornatus viridi tempora pampino, 

Liber vota bonos ducit ad exitus.’ ” 

I remained alone with Santa. 

“ Have you written anything lately ? ” inquired she. “ You 
look as if you had been composing one of those beautiful 
pieces which so wonderfully speak to the heart. I have 
thought many times on you and your Tasso, and have felt 
myself quite pensive, although you very well know that I do 
not belong to the weeping sisterhood. Be now in a good 
humor. Look at me ; you say nothing complimentary ; you 
see nothing, say nothing about my new dress. See how be- 
coming it is ; a poet must have an eye for everything. I am 
slender as a pine ; regularly thin ? Is it not so ^ ” 

“ That one sees immediately,” was my reply. 


i 82 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


Flatterer ! ’’ interrupted she, “ am I not as usual ? My 
dress hangs quite loosely upon me ! Now what is there to 
blush about ? You are, however, a man ! We must have you 
more in women’s society, and thus educate you a little ; that 
we can do excellently. Now sit down ; my husband and Fed- 
erigo are up to the ears in their blessed antiquity ; let us live 
for the present ; one has much more enjoyment in that 1 You 
shall taste our excellent Falernian wine, and that directly ; 
you can drink of it again with the other two.” 

I refused, and attempted to begin an ordinary conversation 
on the events of the day ; but I found, only too plainly, how 
abstracted I was. 

I am only a burden to you,” said I, rising, and about to 
take my hat. Pardon me, signora ; I am not well, and that 
it is which makes me unsociable.” 

“ You will not leave me ? ” said she, drawing me back to 
my chair, and looking sympathizingly and anxiously into my 
face. What has happened ? Have confidence in me. I 
mean it so honestly and so kindly towards you ! Do not let 
my petulance wound you. It is only my nature. Tell me 
what has happened ; have you had letters ? Is Bernardo 
dead ? ” 

No, God be praised ! ” returned I ; “it is another thing, 
quite another.” 

I wished not to have spoken of Excellenza’s letter ; yet, in 
my distress, I disclosed everything to her quite open-heart- 
edly, and with tears in her eyes she besought me not to be 
troubled. 

“ I am thrust out of the world,” said I ; “ forsaken by every 
one ; nobody — nobody at all loves me.” 

“Yes, Antonio,” exclaimed she, “you are loved. You are 
handsome ; you are good ; my husband loves you, and I love 
you ; ” and with these words I felt a burning kiss upon my 
brow, her arm clasped my neck, and her cheek touched mine. 

My blood became like flame, a trembling went through my 
limbs ; it was as if my breath stood still ; never had I felt so 
before ; the door opened, and Federigo and Maretti entered. 

“Your friend is ill,” said she, in her usual tone ; “he has 
almost terrified me. Pale and red in one moment ; I thought 


HAVE I MISUNDERSTOOD HER? 183 

he would have fainted in my arms, but now he is better ; is it 
not so, Antonio ? ” 

And then, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had 
been said, she jested about me. I felt my own heart beat, 
and a feeling of shame and indignation arose in my soul ; I 
turned from her, the beautiful daughter of sin. 

Qu(b sit hiems Velice^ quod coelum^ Vala Salerni .U' said 
Maretti. How is it with heart and head, signor ? What has 
he now done, the ferus Cupido^ who always sharpens the 
bloody arrow on the glowing whetstone ? ’’ 

The Falernian wine sparkled in the glass. Santa clinked 
her glass against mine, and said, with an extraordinary expres- 
sion, “ To better times ! ” 

‘‘To better times ! repeated Federigo. “ One must never 
despair.^’ 

Maretti touched his glass to mine also, and nodded, “ To 
better times I ” 

Santa laughed aloud, and stroked my cheek. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


RAMBLE THROUGH HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. — THE 
EVENING ON VESUVIUS. 

HE next morning Federigo fetched me. Maretti joined 



X us. Fresh morning breezes blew from the sea, and our 
carriage rolled round the bay from Naples to Herculaneum. 

“ How the smoke whirls from Vesuvius ! ’’ said Federigo, 
and pointed to the mountain. “ We shall have a glorious 
evening.’^ 

The smoke whirled in another manner,’’ said Maretti ; ‘‘it 
went like the shadow of a cloud over the whole country, a/i/io 
79 Christum. At that time the cities which we now go 
to visit were buried under lava and ashes ! ” 

Exactly where the suburbs of Naples end, begin the cities 
Sant Giovanni, Portici, and Recina, which lie so close that 
they may be regarded as one city. We had reached the goal 
before I was aware of it, and drew up before a house in Re- 
cina. Under the street here, under the whole city, lies Her- 
culaneum buried. Lava and ashes covered the whole city in 
a few hours ; people forgot its existence, and the city of Re- 
cina rose above it. 

We entered the nearest house, in the garden of which was 
a large open well, through which a spiral staircase descended. 

“ See you, gentlemen,” said Maretti ; “ it was post Chris- 
tu 77 i 1720 that the Prince of Elboeuf had this well dug. As 
soon as they had descended a few feet, they found statues ; 
and so the excavation was forbidden (jnirabile dictu ! ) For 
thirty years not a hand moved itself before Charles of Spain 
came here, ordered the well to be dug deeper, and they stood 
upon a great stone staircase, such as we now see here ! ” 

The daylight descended here but to a short distance ; and 
these were the seats of the great theatre of Herculaneum. 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. I 85 

Our guides kindled a light for each of us to carry, and we de- 
scended to the depth of the well, and now stood upon the 
seats on which the spectators, seventeen hundred years be- 
fore, had sat ; like a giant body, had laughed, been affected 
by, and had applauded the scenes of life which had been rep- 
resented ! 

A little low door, close by, led us into a large, spacious 
passage. We descended to the orchestra ; saw there the dif- 
ferent apartments for the different musicians, the dressing- 
room, and the scenes themselves. The greatness of the whole 
deeply impressed me. It could be lighted for us only piece- 
meal, yet it seemed to me much larger than the theatre of San 
Carlo. Silent, dark, and desolate, lay all around us, and a 
world rioted above us. As we imagine that a vanished race 
may, as spirits, enter into our scene of life and action, seemed 
I now to have stepped out of our age, and to be wandering, 
like a ghost, in the far-off antiquity. I literally longed for 
daylight, and we soon breathed again the warm air. 

We walked straight forward along the street of Recina, and 
an excavation lay before us, but much less than the former. 
This was all the remains of Herculaneum on which the sun 
shone. We saw one single street, houses with small, narrow 
windows, red and blue painted walls ; very little in compari- 
son with that which awaited us in Pompeii. 

Recina lay behind us, and now we saw around us a plain, 
which seemed like a pitch-black, foaming sea, which had run 
into iron dross. Yet here buildings had raised themselves \ 
little vine gardens grew verdantly, and the church was half- 
buried in this land of death. 

“ I myself saw this destruction ! ’’ said Maretti. ‘‘ I was a 
child, in the age between lacteiis and puer., as one may say. 
Never shall I forget that day ! Tiie black dross over which 
we are now rolling was a glowing river of fire. I saw how it 
rolled down from the mountain towards Torre del Greco. My 
father (beaii sunt morfui) has even plucked ripe grapes for 
me where now lies the black, stone-hardened rind. The lights 
burned blue within the church, and the outer walls were red 
from the strong glow of fire. The vineyards were buried, but 
the church stood like a floating ark upon this glowing sea of 
fi-e ! ” 


1 86 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


Like vine branches laden with heavy bunches swung from 
tree to tree, and looking like one single garland, thus city 
united itself to city around the bay of Naples.^ The whole 
way, with the exception of the already mentioned desolate 
extent, appears a Toledo street. The light cabriolets full of 
people, riders on horseback and on asses, passed one another ; 
whole caravans of travellers, ladies and gentlemen, contribute 
to the life of the picture. 

I had always imagined Pompeii, like Herculaneum, below 
the earth, but it is not so. It looks down from the mountain 
over the vineyards to the blue Mediterranean. We ascended 
at every step, and stood now before an opening made in a 
wall of dark gray ashes, to which grim hedges and cotton- 
plants attempted to give a friendly appearance. Soldiers on 
guard presented themselves, and we entered the suburb of 
Pompeii. 

‘‘You have read the letters of Tacitus?” said Maretti. 
“You have read those of the younger Pliny; now you shall 
have such commentaries on his work as no other author has.” 

The long street in which we stood is called the Tomb Street. 
Here are monuments on monuments. Before two of these 
one finds round, handsome seats, with beautiful ornaments. 
Here, in those former times, the sons and daughters of Pom- 
peii rested themselves, on their rambles out of the city. 
From the tombs they looked out over the blooming landscape, 
the lively bend of the road, and the bay. Next we saw a row 
of houses on each side, all shops ; like so many skeletons 
with hollow eye-sockets they seemed to stare upon us. On 
every hand were traces of the earthquake which, earlier than 
the great destruction, had shaken the city. Many houses 
plainly showed that they were in the progress of building 
exactly when the fire and ashes buried them for centuries ; 
unfinished marble cornices lay on the ground, and near to 
them the models, in terra cotta, from which they were being 
worked. 

We had now reached the walls of the city ; up these, flights 
of broad steps led us to an amphitheatre. Before us stretched 

1 Where Torre del Greco ends begins immediately Torre del Annun- 
data. — Author's Note. 


HERCULANEUM AND EOMPEII. I 8/ 

out a long, narrow street, paved, as in Naples, with lava flags, 
the remains of a much earlier eruption than that which, seven- 
teen hundred years before, had devastated Herculaneum and 
Pompeii. Deep tracks of wheels are visible in the stone ; 
and upon the houses one still reads the names of the inhab- 
itants, hewn in whilst they yet lived there. Before a few of 
the houses there yet hung out signs, one of which announced 
that here, in this house, mosaic-work was done. 

All the apartments were small ; the light was admitted 
through the roof, or by an opening above the door ; 'a square 
portico inclosed the court, which was usually only large enough 
for a single little flower-bed or basin, in which the fountains 
played ; for the rest, the courts and floors were ornamented 
with beautiful mosaics, in which artistical forms, circles, and 
quadrants, cut through each other. The walls were brightly 
painted with deep red, blue, and white colors, with female 
dancers, genii, and light floating figures around upon a glow- 
ing ground. All was indescribably graceful in coloring and 
drawing, and as fresh as if they had been painted only yester- 
day. Federigo and Maretti were in deep conversation on the 
wonderful composition of colors which resist time so uncom- 
monly well, — yes, before I was aware of it, were deep in the 
middle of Bayardi’s ten folio volumes on the “ Antique Mon- 
uments of Herculaneum.” They, like a thousand others, 
forgot the poetical reality which lay before them, and busied 
themselves with criticism, and treatises thereon. Pompeii 
itself was forgotten amid their learned researches. I had not 
been thus consecrated to these outwardly learned mysteries ; 
the reality around me was a poetical world, in which my soul 
felt itself at home. Centuries melted together into years, re- 
vealed themselves in moments in which every care slumbered, 
and my thoughts won a new repose and inspiration. 

We stood before the house of Sallust. 

“ Sallust ! ” shouted Maretti, and lifted his hat, “ corpus 
sine animo I The soul is hence, but we salute reverentially 
the inanimate body.” 

A large picture of Diana and Actaeon occupied the oppo- 
site wall. The workmen exclaimed aloud and joyfully, and 
brought forth to the light a magnificent marble table, white as 


i88 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


the stone of Carrara, supported by two glorious sphinxes ; but 
that which deeply affected me, was the yellow bones which I 
saw, and, in the ashes, the impression of a female breast of 
infinite beauty. 

We went across the Forum to the temple of Jupiter. The 
sun shone upon the white marble pillars ; beyond lay the 
smoking Vesuvius ; pitch-black clouds whirled out from the 
crater, and white as snow hung the white steam over the stream 
of lava, which had formed to itself a path down the side of 
the mountain. 

We saw the theatre, and seated ourselves upon the step- 
formed benches. The stage, with its pillars, its w^alled back- 
ground, with doors for exit, all stood as if people had played 
there yesterday ; but no tone more will sound from the orches- 
tra, no Roscius speak to the exulting crowd. All was dead 
around us ; the great stage of nature alone breathed of life. 
The succulent green vineyards, the populous road which led 
down to Salerno, and in the background the dark blue moun- 
tain, with its sharp outline in the warm ethereal coloring, was 
a great theatre, upon which Pompeii itself stood like a tragic 
chorus, which sang of the power of the angel of death. I 
saw him, even himself, whose wangs are coal-black ashes, and 
overflowing lava, which he spreads over cities and villages. 

We were not to ascend Vesuvius till evening, when the 
glowing lava and moonlight would have great effect. We took 
asses from Recina, and rode up the mountain ; the road lay 
through vineyards and lonesome farms. Very soon, however, 
the vegetation diminished into small, wofuMooking hedges, 
and dry, reed-like blades of grass. The wind blew colder 
and stronger, otherwise the evening was infinitely beautiful. 
The sun seemed, as it sank, like a burning fire ; the heavens 
beamed like gold, the sea was indigo, and the islands pale 
blu2 clouds. It was a fairy world in which I stood. On the 
‘^edge of the bay Naples grew more and more indistinct \ in 
the far distance lay the mountains covered with snow, which 
shone gloriously like the glaciers of the Alps, whilst aloft, 
quite close to us, glowed the red lava of Vesuvius. 

At length we came to a plain, covered with the iron black 
lava, where was neither road nor track. Our asses carefully 


THE EVENING ON VESUVIUS. 1 89 

essayed their footing before they advanced a step, and thus 
we only very slowly ascended the higher part of the mountain, 
which, like a promontory, raised itself out of this dead, petri- 
fied sea. We approached the dwelling of the hermit through 
a narrow excavated road, where only reed-like vegetation was 
found. A troop of soldiers sat here around a blazing fire, 
and drank from their bottles lacrynice Christi. They serve as 
an escort for strangers against the robbers of the mountains. 
Here the torches were lighted, and the winds seized upon 
their flames, as if they would extinguish them, and rend away 
every spark. By this wavering, unsteady light, we rode on- 
ward in the dark evening along the narrow, rocky path, over 
loose pieces of lava, and close beside the deep abyss. At 
length, like a mountain, reared itself before us the coal-black 
peak of ashes : this we had to ascend ; our asses could no 
longer be serviceable to us ; we left them, therefore, behind 
us with the lads who had driven them. 

The guide went first with the torches, we others followed 
after, but in a zigzag direction, because we went through the 
soft ashes, in which we sank at every step up to the knee ; 
nor could we keep a regular line behind one another, because 
there lay great loose stones and blocks of lava in the ashes, 
which rolled down when we trod upon them j at every other 
step we slid one backward ; every moment we fell into the 
black ashes ; it was as if we had leaden weights fastened to 
our feet. 

“ Courage ! cried the guide before us ; “ we shall quickly 
be at the summit ! But the point of the mountain seemed 
forever to be at the same height above us. Expectation and 
desire gave wings to my feet ; an hour elapsed before we 
reached the top — I was the first who did so. 

A vast platform, scattered over with immense pieces of lava 
thrown one upon another, spread itself here before our eyes, 
in the midst of which stood a mount of ashes. It was the 
cone of the deep crater. Like a ball of fire hung the moon 
above it ; thus high had it ascended ; and now, for the first 
time, the mountain permitted us to see it, but only for a mo- 
ment ; in the next, with the rapidity of thought, a coal-black 
cloud whirled out of the crater, and it became dark night 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


190 

around us ; deep thunder rolled within the mountain ; the 
ground trembled under our feet, and we were compelled to 
hold firmly one by another that we might not fall. The same 
moment resounded an explosion which a hundred cannon 
could only faintly imitate. The smoke divided itself, and a 
column of fire, certainly a mile high, darted into the blue air ; 
glowing stones, like blood rubies, were cast upwards in the 
white fire. I saw them like rockets falling above us, but they 
fell in a right line into the crater, or else rolled down the 
mound of ashes. 

‘‘Eternal God ! stammered my heart, and I hardly ven- 
tured to breathe. 

“Vesuvius is in a Sunday humor!’’ said the guide, and 
beckoned us onwards. I had imagined that our journey was 
at an end, but the guide pointed forward over the plain, where 
the whole horizon was a brilliant fire, and where gigantic fig- 
ures moved themselves like black shades upon the strong fire- 
ground. These were travellers who stood between us and the 
down-streaming lava. We had gone round the mountain in 
order to avoid this, and had ascended it from the opposite, 
the eastern side. In its present restless state we could not 
approach the crater itself, but could only stand where the lava- 
streams, like fountains of water, poured out of the sides of 
the mountain. We therefore left the crater on our left, ad- 
vanced across the mountain plain, and climbed over the great 
blocks of lava, for here was neither road nor path. The pale 
moonlight, and the red glare of the torches upon this uneven 
ground, caused every shadow, and every cleft, to seem like a 
gulf, whilst we could see only the deep darkness. 

Again the loud thunder resounded below us, all became 
night, and a new eruption glared before us. 

Only slowl}^, and feeling before us with our hands at every 
step, crept we onwards towards our goal, and quickly we per- 
ceived that everything which we touched was warm. Between 
the blocks of lava it steamed forth hot as from an oven. 

A smooth plain now lay before us ; a lava-stream which was 
only about two days old ; the upper rind of which was already 
black and hard from the operation of the air, although scarcely 
half an ell thick, under which lay, fathoms deep, the glowing 


THE EVENING ON VESUVIUS, I9I 

lava Firm as the ice-rind on an island lake, lay here the 
hardened crust above this sea of fire. Over this we had to 
pass, and on the other side lay again the uneven blocks, 
upon which the strangers stood, and looked down upon the 
new torrent of lava, which they could see only from this 
point. 

We advanced singly, with the guides at our head, upon the 
crust of lava ; it glowed through the soles of our shoes ; and 
around us, in many places, where the heat had caused great 
chinks, we could see the red fire below us ; if the rind had 
broken, we should have been plunged into the sea of fire ! 
We essayed every footstep before we took it, and yet went on 
hastily in order to pass this space, for it burned our feet, and 
produced the same effect as iron when it begins to cool and 
become black, which, when put in motion, instantly emits again 
fiery sparks ; on the snow, the footprints were black, here red. 
Neither of us spoke a word ; we had not imagined this journey 
to have been so fearful. 

An Englishman turned back to us with his guide ; he came 
up to me upon the very crust of the lava where we were sur- 
rounded by the fiery red rents. 

“ Are there any English among you ? he inquired. 

Italian only, and a Dane,” I replied. 

The devil ! ” that was all that was said. 

We had now arrived at the great blocks on which many 
strangers were standing. I also mounted one, and before 
me, down the mountain side, glided slowly the fresh torrent 
of lava ; it was like a redly glowing fiery slime, as of melted 
metal streaming from a furnace, and which spread out be- 
low us far and wide, to a vast extent. No language, no pic- 
ture, can represent this in its greatness and its fearful effect. 
The very air appeared like fire and brimstone ; a thick steam 
floated upwards over the lava stream, red with the strongly 
reflected light ; but all around was night. It thundered below 
in the mountain, and above us ascended the pillar of fire, with 
its glowing stars. Never before had I felt myself so near to 
God. His omnipotence and greatness filled my soul. It was 
as if the fire around me burned out every weakness within 
me ; I felt strength and courage ; my immortal soul lifted its 
wings. 


192 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


“ Almighty God ! ” breathed forth my spirit, I will be Thy 
apostle. Amid the storms of the world I will sing Thy name, 
Thy might, and majesty ! Higher shall my song resound than 
that of the monk in his lonely cell. A poet I am ! Give me 
strength ; preserve my soul pure, as the soul of Thy priest 
and of Nature’s ought to be ! ” I folded my hands in prayer, 
and, kneeling amid fire and cloud, poured out my thanks to 
Him whose wonders and whose greatness spoke to my soul. 

We descended from the block of lava on which we stood, 
and were scarcely more than a few paces from the place when, 
with a loud noise, it sank down through the broken crust, and a 
cloud of sparks whirled aloft in the air ; but I did not tremble ; 
I felt that my God was near to me ; it was one of those mo- 
ments in life in which the soul is conscious of the bliss of its 
immortality, in which there is neither fear nor pain, for it 
knows itself and its God. 

All around us sparks were cast upwards from small craters, 
and new eruptions followed every minute from the large one ; 
they rushed into the air like a flock of birds which flew all at 
once out of a wood. Federigo was as much transported as I 
was, and our descent from the mountain in the loose ashes 
corresponded with our excited state of mind ; we flew ; it was 
a falling through the air : we slid, ran, sank. The ashes lay 
as soft as new-falling snow upon the mountains. We needed 
only ten minutes for our descent, whereas we had required an 
hour in ascending. The wind had abated ; our asses were 
waiting for us below, and in the hut of the hermit sat our 
learned man, who had declined making the wearisome ascent 
with us. 

I felt myself animated anew. I turned my glance continu- 
ally backward ; the lava lay in the distance like colossal, fall- 
ing stars ; the moon shone like day. We travelled along the 
edge of the beautiful bay, and saw the reflection of the moon 
and the lava in two long stretches of light, the one red ; the 
other blue, trembling on the mirror of the waters. I felt a 
strength in my soul, a clearness in my comprehension ; yes if 
I may compare the small with the great, I was so far related 
to Boccaccio, that the impression of a place, and its momen- 
tary inspiration, determined the whole operation of the spirit. 


THE EVENING ON VESUVIUS. 


193 


VirgiPs grave saw his tears, the world his worth as a poet ; the 
greatness and terror of the volcano had chased away depres- 
sion and doubt ; thenifore, that which I saw this day and this 
evening is so vividly impressed upon my soul ; therefore have 
I lingered over this description, and have given that which 
then stamped itself upon my breast, and which I otherwise 
must have spoken of at a later period. 

Our learned man invited us to accompany him home. At 
the first moment I felt some embarrassment, a strange reluc- 
tance, after the last scene between me and Santa, to see her 
again ; but the greater and more important decision in my 
soul soon annihilated this lesser one. 

She took me kindly by the hand, poufed us out wine, was 
natural and lively, so that at last I upbraided myself for my 
severe judgment upon her ; I felt that the impure thought ex- 
isted in myself ; her compassion and sympathy, which she had 
evidently expressed so strongly, I had mistaken for unworthy 
passion. I sought now, tnerefore, by friendliness and jest, 
which was quite accordant with my present state of mind, 
to make up for my strange behavior the day before. She 
seemed to understand me, and I read in her glance a sister’s 
heartfelt sympathy and love. 

Signora Santa and her husband had never yet heard me im- 
provise ; they urged me to do so. I sang of our ascent to 
Vesuvius, and applause and admiration saluted me. That 
which Annunciata’s silent glance had spoken was poured in 
eloquent language from Santa’s lips, and they became doubly 
beautiful from these words ; the eye burned with looks of 
gratitude into my very soul. 


13 


CHAPTER XVHI. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. — MY DEBUT IN SAN CARLO. 

I T was decided that I should make my dehut as Improvisa- 
tore. Day by day I felt my courage to do so increase. In 
Maretti’s house, and in the few families whose acquaintance I 
had made there, I contributed, by my talent, to the entertain- 
ment of the company, and received the warmest praise and 
encouragement. It was a refreshment for my sick soul ; I ex- 
perienced a joy therefrom, and a gratitude towards Provi- 
dence, and nobody who could have read my thoughts would 
have called the fire which burned in my eyes vanity ; it was 
pure joy ! I had really a sort of anxiety about the praise 
which they bestowed upon me ; I feared that I was unworthy 
of it, or that I should not always be able to preserve it. I 
felt it deeply, and ventured to express it, although it concerned 
me so much. Praise and encouragement are the best school 
for a noble soul ; where, on the contrary, severity and unjust 
blame either render it timid, or else awaken defiance and 
scorn. I had learned this by my own experience. 

Maretti showed me much attention, and went out of his 
way to serve me, and introduced me to persons who could be 
useful to me in the path which I had chosen for myself. 
Santa was infinitely mild and affectionate towards me ; and yet 
it seemed to me that a something within me ever repelled me 
from her. I always went with Federigo, or when I knew that 
they had company with them ; I feared lest the late scene 
should be renewed. Yet my eye dwelt upon her when she was 
not aware of it ; and I could not help thinking her beautiful. 
It happened with me, as it so often happens in the world, peo- 
ple are jested with ; they are told that they love somebody 
that they have never thought about, nor have paid much at- 
tention to. But then comes the desire to see what there may 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 1 95 

be in this person, and why they should be fixed upon for our 
choice. One begins with curiosity, which becomes interest ; 
and one has had examples of interest in a person becom- 
ing love. With me, however, it went no further than at- 
tention — a sort of outward regard which I had never known 
before, but just sufficient to excite a beating of the heart — 
an anxiety which made me bashful, and kept me at a distance 
from her. 

I had now been two months in Naples ; on the next Sunday 
I was to make my in the great theatre of San Carlo. 

The opera of the “ Barber of Seville ’’ was given that night ; 
and, after this, I was to improvise on given subjects. I called 
myself Cenci ; I had not the boldness to have my family 
name placed on the bill. 

An extraordinary longing for the decisive day which was to 
establish my fame filled my soul ; but with it there often went 
also an anxiety, a feverish terror, through my blood. Fed- 
erigo comforted me : said that that came from the air — he, 
and almost everybody else, felt the same : it proceeded from 
Vesuvius, whose eruptions increased so greatly. The lava 
stream was already come below the mountain, and had taken 
the direction towards Torre del Annunciata. We could hear, 
in an evening, the thundering reports in the mountain ; the 
air was filled with ashes, which lay thickly upon the trees and 
flowers. The top of the mountain stood enveloped in tem- 
pest-brooding cloud, from which, with every eruption, darted 
forth the zigzag pale-blue lightning. Santa was unwell, like 
the rest. It is fever,” she said, and her eye burned. She 
looked pale, and expressed herself very much troubled about 
it ; because she must, and would, be in San Carlo on the 
evening of my debut. 

Yes,” said she, ‘4hat I shall, even though I have a fever 
three times as severe the day after. I shall not remain away. 
One must venture one’s life for one’s friends, even if they 
know nothing about it ! ” 

I passed my time now on the promenades, in the coflee* 
houses, and at the various theatres. Again, my excited state 
of mind drove me to the churches, to the foot of the Madonna ; 
there I confessed every sinful thought, and prayed for cour- 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


196 

age, and for strength to follow the powerful impulses of my 
soul. ‘‘ Bella ragazza ! ’’ whispered the tempter in my ear, 
and my cheeks burned as I tore myself away. My spirit and 
my blood strove for the mastery ; 1 felt, as it were, a period 
of transition in my individual I. The next Sunday evening I 
regarded as the culmination-point. 

We must just for once go to the great gambling-house,’’ 
Federigo had said many a time. “ A poet must know every- 
thing ! ” 

We had not been there ; and I felt a kind of bashfulness in 
going. Bernardo had not said of me, without some degree of 
justice, that my bringing up with the good Domenica, and in 
the Jesuits’ school, had infused a little goats’ milk in my blood 

— cowardice, as he had also offensively called it. 

I needed more decision ; I must live more in the world if I 
meant to describe it ! These thoughts passed impressively 
through my mind, as, somewhat late in the evening, I went to 
the most celebrated gaming-house in Naples. 

I will go up there, just because I feel the want of courage 
to do so ! ” said I within myself. I need not play ; Fed- 
erigo and my other friends will say that I have done very 
rationally.” 

Yet how weak one can be ! My heart beat all the time as 
if I were about to commit a sin, whilst my reason whispered 
to me that there was really no harm in it at all. Swiss guards 
stood at the doors ; the staircase was magnificently lighted. 
In the lobby stood a crowd of servants, who took from me my 
hat and stick, and opened the door for me, which revealed to 
me a suite of well-lighted rooms. There was a large assembly 
of people, gentlemen and ladies. Endeavoring not to appear 
embarrassed, I went quickly forward into the first saloon, and 
no one took the least notice of me. The company sat around 
the great gaming-table, with piles of colonati and louis-d’or 
lying before them. 

A lady, advanced in years, who certainly had once been 
handsome, sat with painted cheeks, and richly appareled, 
grasping the cards in her hands, whilst she fixed a falcon glance 
upon the piles of gold. Several young and very lovely girls 

— all of them the beautiful daughters of sin — stood in veiy 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 1 97 

confidential conversation with some gentlemen. Even the old 
lady with the falcon eye had once won hearts, as she could 
now win with their color. 

In one of the smallest of the chambers, there stood a red 
and green diced table. I saw that they set one or more co- 
lonati upon one of these colors ; the balls were rolled, and, if 
they lay upon the selected color, the stake was won double. 
It went on like the beating of my pulse ; gold and silver 
played over the board. I also took out my purse, threw a 
colonati upon the table, which fell on the red color. The man 
who stood before it looked at me with an inquiring glance, as 
to whether it should remain lying there. I nodded involun- 
tarily ; the ball rolled, and my money was doubled. I became 
quite embarrassed thereby ; it remained lying there, and the 
ball rolled again and again. Fortune favored my play ; my 
blood was put into motion. It was only my lucky piece which 
I ventured ; presently there lay a heap of silver before me, 
and the louis-d’or shone beside it as a balance. I swallowed 
a glass of wine, for my mouth was parched. The great heap 
of silver increased more and more, for I took none of it 
away. The ball rolled again, and, with the most cold-blooded 
mien, the banker swept the whole glittering heap to himself. 
My beautiful golden dream was at an end ; but it also awoke 
me. I played no more ; I had only lost the colonati which I 
had risked at first. This consoled me, and I went into the 
next saloon. 

Among the young ladies there was one who attracted my 
attention, by a wonderful likeness to Annunciata, only she was 
taller and stouter. My eye rested continually upon her. She 
observed it, stepped up to me, and, pointing to a little table, 
asked whether we should make up a party. I excused my- 
self, and returned to the room from which I was just come ; 
she followed me with her eye. In the innermost room, a 
number of young men were playing at billiards ; they were 
playing without their coats, although ladies were in their com- 
pany. I did not remember what freedom was permitted in 
this company. Before the door, but with his back towards 
me, stood a young man of fine figure ; he steadied the queue 
on the ball, and made a masterly stroke, for which he was ap 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


198 

plauded. The lady even, who had attracted my attention, 
nodded kindly, and seemed to say something amusing. He 
turned himself round, and wafted her a kiss with his hand, 
whilst she jestingly struck him on the shoulder. My heart 
beat ; it was actually Bernardo ! 

I had not the courage to advance nearer, yet I desired to 
have perfect knowledge. I stole along the wall towards the 
open door of a large, half-lighted saloon, where, unseen my- 
self, I could more narrowly observe him. A twilight pervaded 
this apartment ; red and white glass lamps cast a faint light ^ 
an artificial garden adjoined it, adorned with bowers, which, 
however, were only formed with painted, leaden foliage, sur- 
rounded by beautiful orange-trees ; stuffed parrots, with bril- 
liant plumage, swung among the branches, whilst a hand-organ 
played, in low tones, soft, graceful melodies, that went to the 
heart. A mild coolness was wafted through the open door 
from the arcade. Scarcely had I cast a hasty glance over the 
whole, when Bernardo approached with light footsteps : I 
drew myself mechanically into an arbor ; he saw me standing 
there, smiled and nodded to me, and, hastening to the next 
arbor, threw himself upon a seat, and hummed an air half 
aloud. A thousand emotions agitated my breast : he here? 
I so near him ? I felt a trembling in all my limbs, and was 
obliged to seat myself. The fragrant flowers, the half-sup- 
pressed music, the twilight, even the soft, elastic sofa, all car- 
ried me into a sort of dream-world, and only in such a one 
could I expect to meet with Bernardo. Whilst I thus sat, the 
young lady whom I have already mentioned entered the room 
and approached the arbor where I was ; seeing this, Bernardo 
hummed aloud, and she, recognizing his voice, turned toward 
him. I heard a kiss ; it burned into my soul. 

Him — the faithless, fickle Bernardo, had Annunciata pre 
ferred to me ! Already, so shortly after the happiness of his 
love, he could forget her, could consecrate his lips to an image 
of beauty formed of clay 1 I darted out of the room, out of 
the house ; my heart trembled with indignation and pain. I 
got no rest till morning. 

The day was now come on the evening of which I was to 
make my debut in the theatre of San Carlo. The thoughts of 


MV DEBUT IN SAN CARLO. 1 99 

this and the adventures of yesterday had set my whole soul in 
motion. Never had my heart prayed more inwardly to the 
Madonna and the saints. I went to church, received the sac- 
rament from the priest ; prayed that it might strengthen and 
purify me, and felt its wonderful power ! One thought only 
seized disturbingly upon the rest which was so necessary for 
me, and this was, whether Annunciata were here — whether 
Bernardo had followed her. Federigo brought me the certain 
intelligence that she was not here ; he, on the contrary, as 
the list of arrivals showed, had been here four days. Santa, 

I knew, was ill of fever ; but, notwithstanding, she insisted on 
going to the theatre. The play-bills were pasted up ; Fed- 
erigo told histories, and Vesuvius threw up fire and ashes 
more violently than usual ; all was in activity. 

The opera had begun when the carriage conveyed me to 
the theatre. Had the Fates sat at my side, and my life’s 
thread been between the shears, I believe I should have ex- 
claimed, Cut away ! ” My prayer and my thought were, 
God lets all things be for the best ! ” 

In the green-room I found a crowd of artists of the stage, 
and some fine spirits, and even an improvisatore, and a pro- 
fessor of the French language, — Santini, with whom Maretti . 
had made me acquainted. The conversation was easy ; they 
jested and laughed ; the singers in The Barber” came and 
went as if it were from a party ; the stage was their accus- 
tomed home. 

“ We shall give you a theme,” said Santini , “ O, a hard 
nut to crack ; but it will succeed. I remember how I trem- 
bled the first time that I made my appearance ; but it suc- 
ceeded ! I had my tricks — little innocent artifices which 
reason permits ; certain little stanzas about love, and anti- 
quity, the beauty of Italy, poetry and art, which one knows 
how to bring in, to say nothing of a few standing poems ; that 
is a matter of course ! ” 

I assured him that I had never thought of preparing myself 
in this way. 

‘‘Yes, that one says?” said he, laughing; “but good! 
good 1 You are a rational young man ; it will succeed glori- 
ously with you ! ” 


200 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


The piece came to an end, and I stood alone upon the 
empty stage. 

The scaffold is ready ! ” said the manager, laughing, and 
gave the sign to the mechanist. The curtain drew up. 

I only saw a black abyss, could only distinguish the first 
heads in the orchestra, and the first boxes of the five heights 
in that lofty building ; a thick, warm air wafted towards me. 
I felt a strong resolution within me which was amazing to 
myself. To be sure, my soul was in a state of excitement, but 
it was, as it ought to be, flexible and susceptible of every 
thought. As the air is the clearest when in winter severe cold 
penetrates it, thus I felt an elasticity and clearness all at once. 
All my spiritual abilities were awake, as in this case they 
must and should be. 

Any one could give me a subject on a slip of paper, upon 
which I was to improvise, a secretary of the police having in 
the first place examined that nothing contrary to the law was 
suggested. From these subjects I could make my selection. 
In the first I read II cavalier servente ; ” but I had never 
rightly thought over this kind of business. I knew, certainly, 
that the cicisbeo, as they are also called, was the knight of the 
present time, who, now that he can no longer enter the lists 
for his lady, is her faithful attendant, who stands in the place 
of her husband. I recollected the well-known sonnet, Fern- 
ina di costume^ di mafiiere,’’^ ^ but at the moment not a thought 
would arise in my mind to embellish this subject. I opened 
with impatience the second paper ; in it was written Capri ; 
this, also, was embarrassing to me ; I had never been upon 
the island, had only seen its beautiful mountain outline from 

1 This sonnet is in W. Muller’s Rom, R'dmer, und Rdmerm, The/’/m- 
beo was established in Genoa, among the merchants. Business took these 
men much from home, and, in order not to confine their wives to the house, 
they were placed under the care of a friend, to become their attendant ; 
commonly this friend was a priest. Afterwards it became the fashion : 
nobody could do without a cicisbeo. The connection was noble and pure, 
and there are instances in which the dead have been praised on their 
monuments for the exact and faithful fulfillment of their duty as cicisbeos. 
From morning to night must the cicisbeo attend his lady, must show her 
the greatest attention, and, on the contrary, be indifferent to others : this 
is his duty. — Authors Note. 


MY DEBUT IN SAN CARLO. 


201 


Naples. What I did not know I could not sing ; I preferred 
rather II cavalier servente.” 

I opened the third paper, and here I read, The Catacombs 
of Naples neither had I been here ; but with the word cat- 
acombs a life’s-moment stood before me ; the ramble in my 
childhood with Federigo, and our adventure, arose livingly 
before my soul. I struck a few notes j the verses came of 
themselves ; I related what I had felt and gone through, only 
that it was in the catacombs of Naples instead of Rome. I 
seized for a second time the thread of happiness, and repeated, 
stormy plaudits saluted me ; they streamed like champagne 
through my blood. 

They gave me now as a subject, “Fata Morgana.’’ I had 
not seen this beautiful ethereal appearance, peculiar to Sicily 
and Naples ; but I knew very well the beauty fairy Phantasy, 
which dwelt in those splendid castles ; I could describe my 
own dream-world, in which floated, also, her gardens and cas- 
tles. In my heart, indeed, abode life’s most beautiful “Fata 
Morgana.” 

I rapidly thought over my subject; a little story fashioned 
itself therewith, and new ideas presented themselves in my 
song. I began with a little description of the ruined church 
at Posilippo, without precisely mentioning its name. This 
romantic house had captivated me, and I gave a picture of 
the church, which now had become the home of the fisher- 
man ; a little child lay asleep on his bed below the window 
on which the picture of Saint George was painted on the glass. 
In the still moonlight night a beautiful little girl came to him ; 
she was as lovely and as light as air, and had beautiful, bright- 
colored wings upon her shoulders. They played together, 
and she led him out into the green vine grove, showed him a 
thousand glorious things which he had never seen before ; 
they went out into the mountains, which opened themselves 
into large, splendid churches, full of pictures and altars ; they 
sailed upon the beautiful blue sea over against the smoking 
Vesuvius, and the mountain appeared as if of glass ; they saw 
how the fires burned and raged within it ; they went below 
the earth and visited the old cities, of which he had heard tell, 
and all the people were living ; he saw their wealth and pomp, 


202 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


greater even than we have any conception of from their rums. 
She loosened her wings, bound them upon his shoulders, for 
she, without these, was light as air, and needed them not. 
Thus flew they over the orange woods, over the mountains, 
the luxuriant green Marshes to ancient Rome, amid the dead 
Campagna ; flew over the beautiful blue sea, far past Capri, 
rested upon the crimson, shining clouds, and the little girl 
kissed him, called herself Fancy, and showed him her mother’s 
beautiful castle, built of air and sunbeams, and there they 
played so happily and so joyously ! But, as the boy grew up, 
the little girl came to him less frequently, peeped only at him 
in the moonlight between the green vine-leaves, and the 
oranges nodded to him, and he became troubled and full of 
longing. But he must now help his father on the sea, learn 
to work the oars, to pull the ropes, and steer the boat in the 
storm j but all the more he grew, all the more turned his 
thoughts towards his beloved playfellow, who never more 
visited him. Late in the moonlight nights, when he lay upon 
the quiet sea, he let the oars rest, and down in the deep, 
clear water, he saw the sandy, seaweed-strewn bottom of the 
ocean. Fancy then looked upwards at him, with her dark, 
beautiful eyes, and seemed to beckon and call him downward 
to her. 

One morning many fishermen stood together on the shore. 
Floating in the ascending beams of the sun, not fat from 
Capri, lay a new, wondrously beautiful island formed of rain- 
bow colors, with glittering towers, stars, and clear, purple- 
tinted clouds. “ Fata Morgana ! ” exclaimed they all, and 
triumphed joyfully in the charming apparition ; but the young 
fisher knew it well : there had he played ; there had he abode 
with his beautiful Fancy : a strange melancholy and yearning 
seized upon his soul ; but, amid his tears, grew dim and van- 
ished the whole well-known image. 

In the clear moonlight evening again ascended, from the 
promontory on which the fishermen stood, castles and islands 
fashioned of brightness and of air ; they saw a boat with the 
speed of an arrow dart towards the strangely floating land and 
vanish ; and suddenly was extinguished the whole creation 
of light, and, instead, a cold, black cloud spread itself over 


My DEBUT IN SAN CARLO, 


203 

the sea, a water-spout advanced along the peaceful surface, 
which now began to heave its dark green billows. When this 
had vanished, the ocean was again calm ; the moon shone 
upon the azure waters, but they saw no boat ; the young 
fisher had vanished — vanished with the beautiful “ Fata Mor- 
gana ! ’’ 

The same applause as before greeted me again ; my cour- 
age and my inspiration increased. The next subject which 
was given furnished recollections out of my own life, which it 
was only needful for me to relate. I was to improvise of 
Tasso. He was myself; Leonora was Annunciata ; we saw 
each other at the court of Ferrara. I suffered with him in 
captivity ; breathed again freedom with death in my heart, as 
I looked from Sorrento over the billowy sea towards Naples ; 
sat with him under the oak at the Convent of St. Onophrius ; 
the bell of the Capitol sounded for his coronation-feast, but 
the angel of death came and first placed upon his head the 
crown of immortality. 

My heart beat violently ; I was engrossed, was carried 
away by the flight of my thoughts. Yet was one more poem 
given to me ; it was “ The Death of Sappho.’’ The pangs of 
jealousy I had felt as I remembered Bernardo ; Annunciata’s 
kiss upon his brow burned into my soul. Sappho’s beauty 
was that of Annunciata ; but the sufferings of her love were 
my own. The ocean waters closed over Sappho ! 

My poem had called forth tears ; the most extraordinary 
applause resounded from all sides, and after the curtain had 
fallen, I was twice called for. A happiness, a nameless joy, 
filled my soul, and yet seemed so to oppress my heart till it 
was ready to break ; and when I had left the stage amid the 
embraces and congratulations of my friends and acquaintance, 
I burst into tears, into violent, convulsive sobs. 

With Santini, Federigo, and some of the singers, a very 
lively evening was spent ; they drank to my well-being, and I 
was happy, but my lips were sealed ! 

He is a pearl ! ” exclaimed Federigo in his gay delight, 
speaking of me; ‘‘his only fault is, that he is a Joseph the 
second, whom we Danes, for the sake of clearness, should call 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


204 

Joseph the son of Jacob! Enjoy life, Antonio; pluck the 
rose before it be withered 1 

It was late when I reached home ; and with prayers and 
thanks to the Madonna, and Jesus Christ, who had not for- 
saken me, I was soon deeply and soundly asleep. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SANTA. THE ERUPTION. — OLD CONNECTIONS. 

HE next morning I stood before Federigo a new-born 



JL man ; I was able to express my delight ; I could not do 
it the evening before. Life around me interested me more ; 1 
felt myself, as it were, ennobled ; I seemed to have become 
more mature through the dew of encouragement which had 
fallen upon my life’s tree. 

It was necessary, also, that I should pay a visit to Santa ; 
she had probably heard me the evening before ; I longed also 
to hear her praise, of which I was sure. 

Maretti received me with rapture, but Santa, I was told, had 
through the whole night, after she returned from the theatre, 
suffered severely from fever ; at this moment she was asleep, 
and sleep would be beneficial to her. I was made to promise 
that I would call again in the evening. I dined with Federigo 
and my new friends ; health after health was drunk : the 
white lacrymce Christi alternated with the wine of Calabria. 
I would not drink any more : my blood was in flame, cham- 
pagne must cool it. 

We separated gayly, and full of delight. When we came 
out into the street, we found the atmosphere lighted up by 
Vesuvius, and the mighty streams of lava. Several of the 
party drove out to see the fearful, but glorious spectacle. I 
went to Santa, for it was a little past the Ave Maria. I found 
that she was quite alone, much better : the servant said the 
sleep had strengthened her : I was permitted to see her, but 
nobody else. 

I was introduced into a beautiful, snug little room, the long 
thick window-curtains of which were drawn ; a lovely marble 
statue of Cupid whetting his arrow, and an argand lamp, 
whose light gave a magical coloring to the whole, were the 


206 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


first things which I saw. Santa lay, in a light wrapping-dress, 
on a soft silken sofa : she half rose as I entered, held with 
one hand a large shawl around her, and extended the other 
to me. 

“ Antonio ! ” said she, it has succeeded gloriously ! For 
tunate man ! you have captivated every one ! O, you know 
not what anxiety I had about you : how my heart beat ; and 
with what delight I again breathed when you so far exceeded 
my greatest expectation ! ” 

I bowed, and inquired after her health. She gave me her 
hand, and assured me that she was better, “Yes, much bet- 
ter,” said she ; and added, “ you look like some one newly 
created ! You looked handsome, very handsome ! When 
you were carried away by your inspiration, you looked quite 
ideal. It was you yourself that I saw in every poem, in the 
little boy with the painter, in the catacombs, methought — 
you and Federigo ! ” 

“ It was so,” said I, interrupting her. “ I have passed 
through all that I have sung.” 

“Yes,” replied she, “you yourself have passed through all 
— the bliss of love, the pain of love — may you be happy as 
you deserve ! ” 

I told her what a change there seemed to be in my whole 
being — how entirely different life seemed now to present 
itself to me ; and she grasped my hand, and looked as if into 
my soul, with her dark, expressive eyes. She was lovely, 
more lovely than common : a fine crimson glowed upon her 
cheeks : the dark, glossy hair was put smoothly back from the 
beautifully formed brow. The luxuriant figure resembled an 
image of Juno, beautiful as a Phidias could form it. 

“Yes,” said she, “you shall live for the world : you are its 
property : you will rejoice and captivate millions ; let not, 
therefore, the thought of one single one seize distinctively on 
your happiness. You are worthy of love : you captivate with 
your spirit, and with your talent, with ” — She panted ; and 
then, drawing me towards her, continued, “ We must talk 
seriously : we have, indeed, not been able rightly to talk to- 
gether since that evening, when sorrow lay so heavily upon 
your soul! You seemed then — yes, what shall I call it? — 
to have misunderstood me ” — 


SANTA, 


207 

My heart had done so ; and very often had I reproached 
myself for it. “ I am not deserving of your goodness,” said I, 
impressing a kiss upon her hand, and looked into her dark 
eyes with a purity of soul and thought. Her glance still 
burned and rested, seriously, almost penetratingly, upon me. 
Had a stranger seen us, he would have discovered shadow 
where there was only purity and light. It was, my heart could 
assert it aloud, as if here met a brother and sister, eye and 
thought. 

She was greatly excited. I saw her bosom heave violently : 
she loosened a scarf to breathe more freely. You are de- 
serving of love ! ” said she. Soul and beauty are deserving 
of any woman's love ! ” 

She laid her arm on my shoulder, and looked again into my 
face ; and then continued, with an indescribably eloquent 
smile, “ And I can believe that you only dream in an ideal 
world ! You are possessed of delicacy and good sense : and 
these always gain the victory. Therefore, Antonio, are you 
dear to me ; therefore is your love my dream, my thought ! ” 
She drew me towards her : her lips were like fire, that flowed 
into my very soul ! 

Eternal Mother of God ! Thy holy image, at that moment, 
fell down from the wall where it stood above my head. It was 
not a mere accident! No! thou touchedst my brow: thou 
didst seize me, as I was about to sink in the whirlpool of 
passion ! 

No ! no ! ” exclaimed I, starting up : my blood was like 
seething lava. 

Antonio ! ” cried she, kill me ! kill me ! but do not 
leave me.” Her cheeks, her eyes, her glance, and expression 
was passion ; and yet she was beautiful — an image of beauty, 
painted in flame. I felt a tremor in all my nerves ; and, 
without replying, I left the apartment ; and rushed down the 
steps, as if a dark spirit had pursued me. 

When I reached the street, all seemed in flame, like my 
blood. The current of the air wafted forward heat. Vesuvius 
stood in glowing fire — eruptions in rapid succession lit up 
everything around. Air ! air ! demanded my heart. I hastened 
to the Molo, in the open bay, and seated myself exactly where 


2o8 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


the waves broke on the shore. The blood seemed to force 
itself to my eyes : I cooled my brow with the salt water : tore 
open my coat, that every breath of air might cool me ; but 
all was flame — the sea even shone like the fire of the red lava, 
which rolled down the mountain. Whichever way I looked, I 
saw her standing, as if painted in flame ; and looking into my 
soul with those beseeching, burning gleams of fire. ‘‘ Kill 
me ! but leave me not ! ’’ resounded in my ears. I closed my 
eyes, turned my thoughts towards God ; but they relapsed 
again : it was as if the flames of sin had scorched the wings 
of my soul. An evil conscience must indeed crush the spirit, 
when thoughts of sin can thus enfeeble both mind and body. 

‘‘ Will Excellenza have a boat to Torre del Annunciata ? ’’ 
said a voice close beside me ; and the name of Annunciata 
recalled consciousness to my soul. 

“ The lava stream runs three ells in a minute,’’ said the fel- 
low, who with his oar held the boat firm to the land : ‘‘ in half 
an hour we can be there.” 

“ The sea will cool me,” thought I, and sprang into the 
boat. The fellow stood from land ; spread out his sail ; and 
now we flew, as if borne onward by the wind, across the 
blood-red, glowing water. A cool wind blew on my cheek, I 
breathed more freely, and felt myself calmer and better as we 
approached land on the opposite side of the bay. 

“ Never again will I see Santa,” I firmly determined in my 
heart. I will fly the serpent of beauty, which shows to me 
the fruit of knowledge. Thousands would ridicule me for 
doing so ; but rather their laughter than the lamenting cry of 
my own heart. Madonna, thou didst permit thy holy image to 
fall from the wall, that thereby I might be preserved from fall- 
ing ! ” Deeply did I feel her protecting grace. 

A wonderful joy now penetrated me : all that was noble 
and good sang hymns of victory in my heart : I was again the 
child of soul and thought. ‘‘Father, direct Thou everything 
as is best for me!” I ejaculated in prayer; and, full of the 
enjoyment of life, as if my happiness was established forever, 
I rambled through the streets of the little town to the high- 
road. 

Everything was in motion ; carriages and cabriolets laden 


THE ERUFTIOH 


209 


with people drove past me ; they shouted, huzzaed, and sang, 
and everything around was lit up by the flame. The torrent 
of lava had approached a small city which lay upon the side 
of the mountain ; families fled therefrom. I saw women with 
little children at the breast, and with small bundles under their 
arms, heard their lamentations, and could not help dividing 
the small sum I had with me with the first that I met. I fol- 
lowed the crowd up among the vineyards, which were in- 
closed with white walls, and towards the direction which the 
lava took. A large vine field lay between us and it, and the 
torrent, like red-hot, fiery slime many fathoms deep, came 
moving itself onward, and overwhelming buildings and walls 
in its course ; the cries of the fugitives, the exultation of the 
strangers at this imposing scene, the shouting of coachmen, 
and the vendors of various wares, mingled strangely together ; 
whilst groups of drunken peasants, who stood in crowds 
around the brandy sellers, people in carriages, and people on 
horseback, ail lighted up with the red fire-lights, formed a pic- 
ture of which, in its completeness, no description can be 
given. One might advance quite close to the lava which had 
its determined course ; many people stuck in their sticks, or 
else pieces of money, which they took out again, attached to 
a piece of lava. 

Fearfully beautiful was it when a part of the fiery mass, 
from its size, tore itself loose ; it was like the breakers of the 
sea : the descending piece lay like a beaming star outside 
the stream. The air first of all cooled the projecting cor- 
ners ; they became black, and the whole piece appeared like 
dazzling gold, inclosed in a coal-black net. There had been 
hung on one of the vines an image of the Virgin, in the hope 
that the fire would become suspended before the holy form ; 
but it advanced onward in the same uniform course. The 
heat singed the leaves on the tall trees, which bowed down 
theii crown-like heads to the fiery mass, as if they would be- 
seech for mercy. Full of expectation, many a glance rested 
on the image of the Virgin, but the tree bowed itself deeply 
with her before the red fire stream ; it was only distant a few 
ells. At that moment I saw a Capuchin monk close beside 
me throw his arms aloft and exclaim that the image of the 
14 


210 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


Madonna caught fire. Save her ! ” cried he ; so will she 
save you from the flames of the fire ! ’’ 

All trembled and drew back when, at that moment, a 
woman started forward, cried aloud the name of the Madonna, 
and hastened towards the glowing death. Whilst this was 
doing, I saw a young officer on horseback, with his drawn 
sword drive her back, although the fire stood like a wall of 
rock by his side. 

“ Mad woman ! exclaimed he, “ Madonna needs not thy 
help. She wills that her badly painted picture, desecrated 
by the hand of a sinner, shall be burned in the fire.’’ 

It was Bernardo ; I knew his voice ; his quick decision had 
saved the life of a fellow-creature, and his speech prevented 
all offense. I could not but esteem him, and wished in my 
heart that we had never been separated. But my heart beat 
more quickly, and I had neither courage nor desire to see him 
face to face. 

The fire stream swallowed up the trees and the Madonna 
image ; I withdrew to some distance, and leaned involunta- 
ril}^ against a wall, where several strangers sat around a table. 

Antonio ! is it actually thou ? ” I heard a voice exclaim ; 
I fancied that it \vas Bernardo ; a hand pressed mine ; it was 
Fabiani, the son-in-law of Excellenza, the husband of Fran- 
cesca, who had known me as a child, and who now, as I 
must imagine from the letter which I had received, was angry 
with me like the others, and, like them, had cast me off. 

“Nay, that we should meet here!” said he. “It will de- 
light Francesca to see you I But it is not handsome of you 
that you have not been to visit us. We have actually been 
eight days at Castelamare ! ” 

“ I knew nothing of that,” replied I, “ besides ” — 

“ Yes, all at once you are become quite another person ; 
have been in love, and,” added he, more gravely, “ have also 
fought a duel, on which account you have regularly eloped, 
which I cannot at all commend. Excellenza has just now an- 
nounced it to us, and we were astonished at it. He has, how- 
ever, written to you, has he not, and that truly not in the 
mildest manner .? ” 

My heart beat violently; I felt myself thrown back into 


OLD CONNECTIONS. 


211 


the fetters which benefits had riveted upon me, and expressed 
the distress which I had experienced in being cast off by them 
all. 

^‘Nay, nay, Antonio ! said Fabiani, ‘Mt is not so bad as 
that. Come with me to my carriage ! Francesca will be as- 
tonished to see you this evening ; we shall soon be at Castel- 
amare, and we shall find a place in the hotel for you. You 
shall tell me what you have seen. It is a sin to despair. 
Excellenza is violent ; you know him ; but all will be right 
again.’’ 

No, that it cannot be,” replied I, half aloud, falling back 
again into my former suffering. 

‘‘It shall and will,” said Fabiani, with determination, and 
led me towards his carriage. 

He required me to tell him everything. 

“ But you are not going to turn improvisatore ? ” asked he, 
with a smile, when I told him of my flight, and of Fulvia in 
the robber’s cave. 

“ It sounds so poetic,” said he, “ as if it were your fancy, 
and not your memory, that played the principal part.” 

I showed him Excellenza’s letter. “ Severe, too severe ! ” 
said he, when he had read it ; “ but cannot you, however, see 
by it how much he thinks of you, and therefore it was so se- 
rious ? But you really have not made your appearance in the 
theatre ? ” 

“Yesterday evening,” replied 1. 

“ That was too daring,” interrupted he ; “ and how did it 
go off ? ” 

“ Gloriously ! most fortunately ! ” returned I, joyfully. “ I 
received the greatest applause — was twice called for.” 

“ Is it possible ? You have succeeded ? ” 

There was a doubt, a surprise in these words which wounded 
me deeply, but the obligations of gratitude bound my lips, as 
well as my thoughts. 

I felt a sort of embarrassment in presenting myself to Fran- 
cesca ; I knew, indeed, how grave and severe she could be. 
Fabiani consoled me, half jestingly, by saying that there 
should be neither confession nor castigatcry sermon, although 
I had actually so well deserved it. 


212 


THE iMPROVISATORE, 


We reached the hotel. 

“Ah, Fabiani exclaimed a young, handsomely dressed 
and curled gentleman, who sprang forward to meet us. “ It 
is well you are come ; your signora is quite impatient. Ah ! ” 
said he, breaking off the moment he saw me, “you are 
bringing the young improvisatore with you ! Cenci, is it 
not?’’ 

“Cenci?” repeated Fabiani, and looked at me in amaze- 
ment. 

“ The name under which I appeared in public,” I replied. 

“ Indeed ! ” said he ; “ w'ell, that was very rational.” 

“ He can sing about love,” said the stranger. “ You should 
have heard him in San Carlo last evening. That is a tal- 
ent ! ” 

He offered me his hand obligingly, and showed his delight 
in making my agreeable acquaintance. 

“I shall sup with you this evening,” said he to Fabiani, 
“ and invite myself on account of your excellent singer, and 
you and your wife will not refuse me.” 

“You are always welcome, as you know very well,” returned 
Fabiani. 

“ But you must, however, introduce me to the stranger gen- 
tleman,” said he. 

“ There is no need of ceremony here,” said Fabiani. “We, 
he and I, are sufficiently acquainted ; my friends need not be 
introduced to him. It will be a great honor to him to make 
your acquaintance.” 

I bowed, but I was not at all satisfied with the mode in 
which Fabiani had expressed himself. 

“ Well, then, I must introduce myself,” said the stranger. 
“ You, I have already had the honor of knowing ; my name is 
Gennaro, officer in King Ferdinand’s Guard; and,” added he, 
^aughing, “ of a good Neapolitan family ! Many people give 
it even number One. It may be that this is right ; at least 
my aunts make very much of that ! Inexpressibly delightful 
is it to me to make the acquaintance of a young man of your 
talent, your ” — 

“ Be quiet ! ” interrupted Fabiani ; “ he is not accustomed to 
such speeches ; now you know one another. Francesca waits 


OLD CONNECTIONS. 


213 

for ITS j there will now be a reconciliation scene between her 
and your improvisatore ; perhaps you will here find occasion 
to make use of your eloquence.’’ 

I wished that Fabiani had not spoken in this way ; but they 
two were friends, and how could Fabiani place himself in my 
painful position ? He led us in to Francesca ; I involuntarily 
held back a few steps. 

At length, my excellent Fabiani ! ” she exclaimed. 

At length,” repeated he, and I bring two guests with 
me.” 

Antonio ! ” exclaimed she, and then again her voice sank ; 
“ Signor Antonio ! ” 

She fixed a severe, grave glance upon me and Fabiani ; I 
bowed, wished to kiss her hand, but she seemed not to observe 
it — offered it to Gennaro, and expressed the great pleasure 
she had in seeing him to supper. 

“Tell me about the eruption,” said she to her husband; 
“ has the lava stream changed its direction ? ” 

Fabiana told her about it, and ended by saying that there 
he had met with me ; that I was his guest, and that now mercy 
must be shown before judgment. 

“Yes,” exclaimed Gennaro, “I cannot at all imagine how 
he can have sinned; but everything must be forgiven to 
genius.” 

“You are in your very best humor,” said she, and nodded 
very graciously to me, whilst she assured Gennaro that she 
had really nothing to forgive me. “ What do you bring us 
for news ? ” inquired she from him. “ What do the French 
papers say ? and where did you spend last evening ” 

The first question he quickly dismissed ; the second he dis- 
cussed with great interest. 

“ I was in the theatre,” said he, “ heard the last act of the 
‘Barber! ’ Josephine sang like an angel, but when one has 
once heard Annunciata, nothing can satisfy one. I went there 
orincipally to hear the improvisatore 1 ” 

“ Did he satisfy you ? ” inquired Francesca. 

“He surpassed my — nay, everybody’s highest expecta- 
tions,” replied he. “ It is not said to flatter him ; and of 
what coAsequence, indeed, would my poor criticism be to him, 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


214 

but that was indeed improvisation ! He was thoroughly mas* 
ter of his art, and carried us all along with him. There was 
feeling, there was fancy. He sang about Tasso, about Sap- 
pho, about the catacombs ; they were poems which were wor- 
thy of being preserved ! ” 

A beautiful talent ! ’’ said Francesca ; one cannot suffi- 
ciently admire it. I wish I had been there.’’ 

“ But we have the man with us,” said Gennaro, and pointed 
to me. 

“ Antonio \ ” exclaimed she, inquiringly ; “ has he impro- 
vised ? ” 

‘‘Yes, like a master,” replied Gennaro; “but you must 
know him already, and must therefore have heard him.” 

“Yes, very often,” returned she, smiling; “ we admired him 
always as a little boy.” 

“ I myself put the wreath on his head the first time that I 
heard him,” said Fabiani, likewise in jest. “ He sang about 
my lady-love before we were married ; and, as a lover, I thus 
worshipped her in his song ! But now to supper ! Gennaro, 
you will conduct my Francesca ; and, as we have no more 
ladies, I will take the improvisatore. Signor Antonio ! I re- 
quest your hand.” 

He then conducted me after the others into the supper- 
room. 

“ But you have never told me about Cenci, or whatever you 
call the young gentleman,” said Gennaro. 

“We call him Antonio,” replied Fabiani; “we did not 
really at all know that it was he who was to make his dehiit 
as improvisatore. You see this is exactly the reconciliation 
scene of which I spoke. You must know that he is, in a 
manner, a son of the house. Is it not so, Antonio ? ” 

I bowed, with a grateful look, and Fabiani continued, “ He 
is an excellent person ; there is not a stain upon his charac- 
ter ; but he will not learn anything.” 

“ But if he can now read everything much better out of the 
great book of Nature, why should he not do so ” 

“You must not spoil him with your praise,” said the sig- 
nora, jestingly; “we believed that he was absorbed in his 
classics, and physics, and mathematics, and instead of that 


OLD CONNECTIONS. 215 

he was over head and ears in love with a young singer from 
Naples.’’ 

“ That shows that he has feeling ? ” said Gennaro. And 
was she handsome ? What was her name ? ” 

“ Annunciata,” said Fabiani ; ‘^of extraordinary talent, and 
a very distinguished woman.” 

‘‘ I myself have been in love with her,’^ said Gennaro. 
‘‘ He has good taste. Here is to Annunciata’s health, Sir 
Improvisatore ! ” 

He touched his glass against mine ; I could not say a word ; 
it tortured me that Fabiani so lightly could lay bare my wound 
before a stranger : but he indeed saw the whole thing from 
quite a different side to what I did. 

‘‘ Yes,” continued Fabiani, “ and he has also fought a duel 
for her sake, wounded the nephew of the senator in the side, 
who was his rival, and so he has been obliged to fly. Heaven 
knows how he has conveyed himself across the frontiers ; 
and, thereupon, he makes his appearance in San Carlo. It is, 
in fact, an act of temerity which I had not expected from him.” 

The senator’s nephew ? ” repeated Gennaro ; now that 
interests me. He is within these few days come here, has en- 
tered into the royal service. I have been with him this very 
afternoon — a handsome, interesting man. Ah, now I com- 
prehend it all ! Annunciata will soon be here ; the lover has 
flown hither before her, settles himself down, and very soon 
we shall read in the play-bills that the singer makes her ap- 
pearance for the last — positively for the last time.” 

“ Do you fancy, then, that he will marry her 1 ” inquired 
Francesca; ‘‘but that would, however, be a scandal in his 
family.” 

“ One has instances of such things,” said I, with a tremu- 
lous voice ; “ an instance of a nobleman who considered him- 
self ennobled and happy by gaining the hand of a singer.” 

“ Happy, perhaps, interrupted she, “ but never ennobled.” 

“ Yes, my gracious signora,” interposed Gennaro. “ I should 
consider myself ennobled if she chose me, and so I fancy 
would many others.” 

They talked a deal — a great deal of her and Bernardo ; 
they forgot how heavily every word must fall upon my heart. 


2I6 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


“ But,” said Gennaro, turning to me, you must delight us 
with an improvisation. Signora will give you a subject.” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Francesca, smiling, sing us Love, that is a 
subject which interests Gennaro, as you indeed know.” 

‘^Yes, Love and Annunciata ! ” exclaimed Gennaro. 

Another time I will do everything which you can desire 
from me,” said I, but this evening, it is impossible to me. I 
am not quite well. I sailed across the bay without my cloak, 
it was so warm by the lava stream ; and then I drove here in 
the cool evening.” 

Gennaro besought me most pressingly to improvise not- 
withstanding, but I could not in this place, and upon this 
subject. 

“ He has already the artist’s way with him,” said Fabiani; 
he must be pressed. Will you, or will you not, go with us 
to-morrow to Paestum ? there will you find material enough for 
your poetry. You should make yourself a little scarce. There 
cannot be much which binds you to Naples.” 

I bowed and felt myself in a difficulty, whilst I did not see 
how I could refuse. 

“ Yes, he goes with us,” exclaimed Gennaro ; ‘‘ and when 
he stands in the great temple, and the spirit comes over him, 
he will sing like a Pindar ! ” 

‘‘We set off to-morrow morning,” continued Fabiani ; “ the 
whole tour will occupy four days. On our return we will visit 
Amalfi and Capri. You must go with us.” 

A no might, perhaps, as the consequence will show, have 
changed my whole fate. These four days robbed me, dare I 
say it, of six years of my youth. And man is a free agent ! 
Yes, we can freely seize upon the threads which lie before us, 
but how they are firmly twisted together, we do not see. I 
gave my thanks and said yes; and seized hold upon the 
thread which drew the curtain of my future more closely to- 
gether. 

“ To-morrow we shall have more talk together,” said Fran- 
cesca, when after supper we separated, and she extended to 
me her hand to kiss. 

“ This very evening I shall, however, write to Excellenza,’’ 
said Fabiani ; “ I will prepare the reconciliation scene.” 


OLD CONNECTIONS. 


217 

‘‘ And I will dream about Annunciata/’ exclaimed Gennaro. 
“ For that I shall not be challenged/’ added he, laughing, as 
he pressed my hand. 

I, too, wrote a few words to Federigo ; told him of my 
meeting with the family of Excellenza, and that I should make 
a little journey towards the south with them. I ended the 
letter : a thousand feelings operated in my breast. How much 
had not this evening brought me ! How many events ran 
athwart each other ! 

I thought on Santa, on Bernardo by the burning picture of 
the Madonna, and then on the last hours spent amid old con- 
nections. Yesterday a whole public, to whom I was a stran- 
ger, had received me with acclamation ; I was admired and 
honored. This very evening a woman, rich in beauty, had 
made me conscious of her love for me ; and a few hours after- 
wards I stood among acquaintance, friends, whom I had to 
thank for everything; and as nothing before them but the 
poor child, whose first duty was gratitude. 

But Fabiani and Francesca had really met me with affec- 
tion ; they had received me as the prodigal son, had given me 
a place at their table ; invited me to join them in a pleasure 
tour on the morrow. Benefit was added to benefit ; I was 
dear to them. But the gift which the rich present with a light 
hand lies heavily upon the heart of the poor ! 


CHAPTER XX. 


JOURNEY TO PiESTUM. — THE GRECIAN TEMPLE. — THE 
BLIND GIRL. 

HE beauty of Italy is not found in the Campagna, nor 



X yet in Rome. I knew it only from my ramble by Lake 
Nemi, and from what I had seen in my journey to Naples. 
Doubly, therefore, must I have felt its rich beauty, almost 
more even than a foreigner, who could compare its loveliness 
with that of other countries. Like a fairy world, therefore, 
which I have seen in dreams, nay, which lived in them, lies 
this three days’ journey before me. But how can I describe 
the impressions which my soul received, nay, as it were, actu- 
ally infused into my blood ? 

The beauty of nature can never be given by description. 
Words place themselves in array indeed, like loose pieces of 
mosaic, one after another, but one understands not the whole 
picture put together piecemeal. Thus it is in nature ; of the 
entire greatness there must be always something wanting. 
One gives the single pieces, and thus lets the stranger put 
them together himself ; but if hundreds saw the complete pic- 
ture, each would represent it very differently. It is with na- 
ture, as with a beautiful face ; no idea can be formed of it by 
the mere details of it ; we must go to a well-known object, 
and only when we can say, with mathematical precision, that 
this resembles that, with the exception of this or that particu- 
lar, can we have, in any degree, a satisfactory idea. 

If it were given to me to improvise on the beauty of Hes- 
peria, I would describe with exact truth the real scenes which 
my eye here beheld ; and thou who hast never seen the beauty 
of South Italy, thy fancy might beautify every natural charm 
with which thou wast acquainted, and it would not be rich 
enough. The ideal of nature exceeds that of man. 


JOURNEY TO PYESTUM. 


219 

In the beautiful morning we set off from Castelaniare. I 
see yet the smoking Vesuvius, the lovely rocky valley, with 
the great vine woods, where the juicy green branches ran from 
tree to tree ; the white mountain castles perched on the green 
cliffs, or half buried in olive woods. I see the old temple of 
Vesta, with its marble pillars and its cupola, now the church 
of Santa Maria Maggiore. A piece of the wall was over- 
thrown ; skulls and human bones closed the opening, but the 
green vine shoots grew wildly over them, and seemed as if, 
with their fresh leaves, they would conceal the power and ter- 
ror of death. 

I see yet the wild outline of the mountains, the solitary 
towers, where nets were spread out to catch the flocks of sea- 
birds. Deep below us lay Salerno, with the dark-blue sea, 
and here we met a procession that doubly impressed the whole 
picture upon my mind. Two white oxen, with their horns an 
ell in span, drew a carriage, upon which four robbers, with 
their dark countenances and horrible scornful laugh, lay in 
chains, whilst dark-eyed, finely formed Calabrians, rode be- 
side them with their weapons on their shoulders. 

Salerno, the learned city of the Middle Ages, was the extent 
of our first day’s journey. 

Old folios have mouldered away,” exclaimed Gennaro ; 
“ the learned glory of Salerno is grown dim, but the volume 
of nature goes into a new edition every year ; and our An- 
tonio thinks, like me, that one can read more in that than in 
any learned musty bock whatever.” 

We may learn out of both,” replied I ; “ wine and bread 
must go together.” 

Francesca discovered that I spoke very rationally. 

“ In talking there is no coming short in him,” said Fabiani, 
“but in deeds ! You will have an opportunity of showing us 
that, Antonio, when you come to Rome.” 

To Rome ! I go to Rome ? This thought had never oc- 
curred to me. My lips were silent ! but my inmost heart said 
to me that I could not — would not again see Rome, again 
enter into the old connections. 

Fabiani continued to talk, so did the others, and we ar- 
rived at Salerno. Our first visit was to the church. 


220 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


‘‘Here I can be cicerone,’’ said Gennaro. “This is the 
chapel of Gregory the Seventh, the holy father who died in 
Salerno. His marble statue stands before us upon the altar. 
There lies Alexander the Great,” continued he, pointing to a 
huge sarcophagus. 

“Alexander the Great? ” repeated Fabiani inquiringly. 

“ Yes, certainly; is it not so ? ” asked he from the attend- 
ant, 

“ As Excellenza says,” replied he. 

“ That is a mistake,” remarked I, observing the monument 
more closely. “ Alexander really cannot be buried here ; that 
is against all history. See only, it is the triumphal procession 
of Alexander, which is represented on the sarcophagus, and 
thence is derived the name.” 

As soon as we had entered into the church, they showed us 
a similar sarcophagus, upon which was delineated a bacchana- 
lian triumph, which had been brought hither from the temple 
in Paestum, and now had been converted into the burial-place 
for a Salernian prince, whose modern marble statue, the size 
of life, was raised upon it. I reverted to this, and gave it as 
my opinion, that the circumstances of this so-called grave of 
Alexander must be similar to it. Quite pleased with my own 
penetration, I made a sort of oration on the subject of the 
graves, to which Gennaro coldly replied, “ Perhaps ; ” and 
Francesca whispered in my ear that it was unbecoming of me, 
wishing to appear wiser than he ; that I must not do so. Si- 
lently and respectfully I drew back. 

At Ave Maria I sat alone with Francesca in the balcony of 
the great hotel. Fabiani and Gennaro were gone out to walk ; 
it was my place to entertain the gracious lady. 

“ What a beautiful play of colors ! ” said I, and pointed to 
the sea, which, white as milk, stretched itself out from the 
broad lava-paved street to the rosy-hued, brilliant horizon, 
whilst the rocky coast was of a deep indigo blue ; such a 
pomp of coloring I had never seen in Rome. 

“ The clouds have already said, ‘ Felicissima natte ! ’ ” re- 
marked Francesca, and pointed to the mountain, where a 
cloud hung high above the villas and the olive woods, and yet 
far below the old castle, which, with its two towers, was nearly 
nerched on the ton of the mountain. 


JOURNEY TO P^STUM, 


221 


There I should like to dwell and live ! ” exclaimed I, 
“ high above the cloud, and look out over the eternally chang- 
ing sea.” 

“There you could improvise!” said she, smiling; “but 
then nobody would hear you, and that would be a great mis- 
fortune, Antonio 1 ” 

“ O yes I ” replied I, likewise jestingly, “if I must be can- 
did, entirely without applause, is like a tree without sunshine ! 
That, of a certainty, gnawed into the flower of Tasso’s life, in 
his captivity, as much as did the unhappiness of his love ? ” 

“ Dear friend 1 ” interrupted she, somewhat gravely, “ I am 
now speaking of you, and not of Tasso 1 what have we to do 
with him in this question ? ” 

“Only as an example,” replied I: “Tasso was a poet, 
and ” — 

“ You believe it to be so,” interrupted she, hastily; “but, 
for Heaven’s sake, dear Antonio, do not ever mention an im- 
mortal name in conjunction with your own 1 Do not fancy 
that you are a poet, an improvisatore, because you have an 
easily excited temperament of mind, and the art of catching 
up ideas ! Thousands can do this as well as you 1 Do not go 
and make yourself unfortunate through it 1 ” 

“ But thousands only lately have awarded to me their ap- 
plause ! ” replied I, and my cheeks burned ; “ and it really is 
quite natural that I should have these thoughts, this convic- 
tion : and I am sure that you will rejoice in my success and in 
that which conduces to my well being I ” 

“ None of your friends would do so more than I 1 ’ said 
she ; “we all value your excellent heart, your noble character, 
and for the sake of these I will venture to promise that Ex- 
cellenza will forgive you 1 You have glorious abilities, which 
must be developed ; but that they must actually be, Antonio ! 
Nothing comes of itself I People must labor ! Your talent is 
a charming company talent ; you may delight many of your 
friends by it, but it is not great enough for the public.” 

“ But,” 1 ventured to suggest, “ Gennaro, who did not know 
me, was yet enchanted with my first appearance in public.” 

“ Gennaro I ” repeated she ; “ yes, with all my esteem for 
him, I set no value at all upon his judgment of art ! And the 


222 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


great public? Yes, in the capital, artists very soon hear quite 
a different opinion ! It was very well that you were not hissed ; 
that would really have distressed me. Now it will all blow 
quietly over, and very soon will be entirely forgotten both you 
and your improvisation ! Then you assumed a feigned name 
also ! In about three days we shall be again in Naples, and 
the day afterwards we return to Rome. Regard it all as a 
dream, as it really has been, and show us, by industry and 
stability, that you are aw^ake again. Do not say a word, now 
— I intend kindly by you ; I am the only one who tells you 
the truth ! ’’ 

She gave her hand for me to kiss. 

The next morning we set off in the early, gray dawn, in 
order that we might reach Paestum in time to spend a few 
hours there, and be back again the same day in Salerno, be- 
cause visitors cannot pass the night at Paestum, and the road 
thither is unsafe. Gens d'armes on horseback accompanied us 
as escort. 

Orange gardens, woods I might call them, lay on either 
hand. We passed over the river Sela, in whose clear water 
were reflected weeping-willows and laurel hedges. The wild 
hills inclosed a fertile corn country. Aloes and cactuses 
grew wildly by the roadside ; everything was luxuriant and 
abundant, and now we saw before us the ancient temple, above 
two thousand years’ old, built in the purest, most beautiful 
style ; this, a miserable public-house, three wretched dwell- 
ings, and some huts of reeds, were now all that remained of 
this renowned city. We saw not a single rose-hedge, and the 
multitude and affluent beauty of the roses had once given its 
celebrity to Paestum. At that time a crimson glow lay upon 
these fields ; now they were blue, infinitely blue, like the dis- 
tant mountains ; fragrant violets covered the great plain, 
springing up amid thistles and thorns. A wilderness of fer- 
tility lay all around ; aloes, wild figs, and the red pyretrum 
indicuMy twined one among another. 

Here are found the characteristics of Sicilian landscape; 
its abundance and luxuriance ; its Grecian temples and its 
poverty. A whole crowd of beggars stood around us, who 


THE BLIND GIRL, 223 

resembled the natives of the South Sea Islands. Men clad 
in long sheep-skins, with the wool outside, with naked, dark- 
brown limbs, and the long black hair hanging loosely around 
the brown yellow countenance ; girls of the most beautiful 
forms, only half clad, with the short skirt hanging in tatters 
to the knee ; a sort of cloak, of ugly brown stuff, thrown 
loosely around the bare shoulders, and the long black hair 
bound together in a knot, and with eyes that flashed fire. 

One young girl there was, scarcely more than eleven years 
old, lovely as the Goddess of Beauty, and yet resembling 
neither Annunciata nor Santa. I could think of nothing else 
but the Medicean Venus, as Annunciata had described it, as 
I looked at her. I could not love, but admire, and bow be 
fore the form of beauty. 

She stood at a little distance from the other beggars ; a 
brown square piece of cloth hung loosely over one shoulder, 
the other breast and arm were, like her feet, uncovered. That 
she thought of ornament, and had the taste for it, was proved 
by the smoothly bound-up hair, in which a bouquet of blue 
violets was fastened, and which hung in curls upon her beauti- 
ful forehead. Modesty, soul, and a singular, deep expression 
of suffering, were expressed in her countenance. Her eyes were 
cast down, as if she sought for something upon the ground. 

Gennaro perceived her first, and, although she spoke not a 
word, he offered her a gift, patted her under the chin, and said 
that she w^as too handsome for the rest of her company. Fa- 
biani and Francesca were of his opinion. I saw a fine crim- 
son diffuse itself under the clear brown skin, and, raising her 
eyes, I saw that she was blind. 

Gladly would I, too, have given her money, but I ventured 
not to do it. When the others were gone to the little hostel, 
followed by the whole troop of beggars, I turned myself 
quickly round and pressed a scudo into her hand ; by the 
feeling she seemed to know its worth ; her cheeks burned, she 
bent forward, and the fresh lips of health and beauty touched 
my hand ; the touch seemed to go through my blood ; I tore 
myself away and followed the others. 

Fagots and twigs burned in a great flaming pile in the wide 
chimney, which almost occupied the whole breadth of the 


2 24 IMPRO VISA TORE, 

chamber. The smoke whirled out under the sooty roof, which 
compelled us to go outside, and behind the tall, shadowy 
weeping-willow our breakfast was prepared, whilst we went to 
the temple. We had to pass through a complete wilderness. 
Fabiani and Gennaro took hold of each other’s hands, to 
make a sort of seat for Francesca, and thus carried her. 

A fearful pleasure excursion ! ” cried she, laughing. 

O Excellenza ! ” said one of our guides, “ it is now mag- 
nificent : three years ago there was no getting through here 
for thorns, and in my childhood sand and earth lay right up to 
the pillars.” 

The rest affirmed to the truth of his remark, and we went 
forw^ard, followed by the whole troop of beggars, wffio silently 
observed us ; the moment our eye met that of one of the beg- 
gars, he immediately stretched out his hand mechanically to 
beg, and a miserahile resounded from his lips. The beautiful 
blind girl I could not see ; she now, indeed, sat alone by the 
way-side. We went over the ruins of a theatre and a temple 
of peace. 

“ A theatre and peace ! ” exclaimed Gennaro ; “ how could 
these two ever exist so near to each other ? ” 

The temple of Neptune lay before us ; this, the so-called 
Basilica, and the temple of Ceres, are the glorious, proud re- 
mains which, like a Pompeii, stand forth again to our age, out 
of oblivion and night. 

Buried amid rubbish, and entirely overgrown, they lay con- 
cealed for centuries, until a foreign painter, who sought for 
subjects for his pencil, came to this place and discovered the 
uppermost of the pillars : their beauty attracted him ; he 
made a sketch of them ; they became known \ the rubbish 
and the wild growth of plants were removed, and again stood 
forth, as if rebuilded, the large, open halls. The columns are 
of yellow Travertine marble ; wild vines grow up around 
them ; fig-trees shoot up from the floor, and in clefts and crev- 
ices spring forth violets and the dark-red gillyflower. 

We seated ourselves upon the pedestal of one of the broken 
columns. Gennaro had driven the beggars away that we 
might enjoy in stillness the rich scene around us. The blue 
mountains, the near sea, the place itself in which we were, 
seized stronelv noon me. 


THE BLIND GIRL, 225 

“ Improvise now to us ! ” Fabiani said ; and Francesca 
nodded to me the same wish. 

I leaned against one of the nearest pillars, and sang, to a 
melody of my childhood, that which my eye now beheld ; the 
beauty of nature ; the glorious memorial of art ; and I thought 
on the poor blind maiden, from whom all magnificent objects 
were concealed. She was doubly poor, doubly forlorn. Tears 
came to my eyes : Gennaro clapped his hands in applause ; 
and Fabiani and Francesca said apart to each other, ‘‘ He has 
feeling.’’ 

They now descended the steps of the temple. I followed 
them slowly. Behind the pillar against which I had stood sat, 
or rather lay, a human being, with her head sunk to her knees, 
and her hands clasped together: it was the blind maiden. 
She had heard my song — had heard me sing of her painful 
yearning and of her deprivations : it smote me to the soul. I 
bent myself over her : she heard the rustling of the leaves, 
raised her head, and to me it seemed that she looked much 
paler. I ventured not to move. She listened. 

“ Angelo ! ” she exclaimed, half aloud. 

I know not why, but I held my breath ; and she sat for a 
moment silent. It was the Grecian goddess of beauty which I 
saw, with eyes without the power of vision, such as Annum 
ciata had described her to me. She sat on the pedestal of the 
temple, between the wild fig-tree and the fragrant myrtle-fence. 
She pressed a something to her lips, and smiled : it was the 
scudo which I had given to her. I grew quite warm at the 
sight of it, bowed myself involuntarily, and pressed a hot kiss 
upon her forehead. 

She started up with a cry, a thrilling cry, which sent, as it 
were, a death-pang through my soul. She sprung up like a 
terrified deer, and was gone. I saw nothing more, everything 
was in motion around me, and I, too, made my escape through 
thorns and bushes. 

“Antonio! Antonio!” I heard Fabiani calling to me a 
long way behind ; and again I bethought myself of time and 
place. 

“ Have you started a hare ? ” asked he j “ or was it a poet- 
ical flight which you were taking ? ” 

15 


226 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


“ He will show us/’ said Gennaro, “ that he can fly where 
we can only get along at a foot pace ; yet I would venture to 
take the same flight with him ; ” and, so saying, he placed 
himself at my side, to race with me. 

‘‘ Do you think that I, with my signora on my arm, can go 
step for step with you ? ” exclaimed Fabiani. Gennaro re- 
mained standing. 

When we came to the little hostel, my eye in vain sought 
for the blind girl : her cry continually resounded in my ear : I 
heard it within my very heart. It was to me as if I had com- 
mitted a sin. I, it was really, who had, although innocently, 
sung care and sorrow into her heart, by making her depriva- 
tions more intelligible to her. I had excited terror and anxiety 
in her soul, and had impressed a kiss upon her brow, the 
first which I had ever given to a woman. If she could have 
seen me, I had not dared to do it : her misfortune — her de- 
fenselessness — had given me courage. And I had passed 
such severe judgment on Bernardo! — I who was a child of 
sin like him, like every one 1 I could have kneeled at her 
feet, and prayed for forgiveness ; but she was nowhere to be 
seen. 

We mounted the carriage to drive back to Salerno ; yet 
once more I looked out to see if I could discover her ; but J 
did not venture to inquire where she could be. 

At that moment, Gennaro exclaimed, “ Where is that blind 
girl ? ” 

“ Lara ? ” said our guide. “ She still sits in the temple of 
Neptune : she is generally there.” 

Bella Divina cried Gennaro, and wafted a kiss with 
his hand towards the temple. We rolled away. 

She was then called Lara. I sat with my back to the driver, 
and saw when the columns of the temple became yet more 
and more distant ; but within my heart intoned the anguish 
cry of the girl, my own suffering. 

A troop of gypsies had encamped themselves by the road- 
side, and had made a great fire in the ditch, over which they 
were boiling and roasting. The old gypsey mother struck 
upon the tambourine, and wanted to tell us our fortunes, buf 
we drove past. Two black-eyed girls followed us for a con 


THE BLIND GIRL. 


227 

siderable time. They were handsome : and Gennaro made 
himself merry about their easy motions and their flashing 
eyes ; but beautiful and noble as Lara were they not. 

Towards evening we reached Salerno. The next morning 
we were to go to Amalfi, and thence to Capri. 

We shall remain, ’’ said Fabiani, “ only one day in Naples, 
if we return there at all. Towards the end of the week we 
must be again in Rome. You can very soon get your things 
in order, Antonio ? ” 

I could not — I wished not, to return to Rome ; but a bash- 
fulness, a fear, which my poverty and my gratitude had in- 
stilled into me through all the years of my life, permitted me 
to do no more than stammer forth, that Excellenza certainly 
would be angry at my audacity in coming back again. 

‘‘ We will take care of all that ! exclaimed Fabiani to me. 

Forgive me, but I cannot ! I stammered, and seized 
Francesca^s hand. I feel deeply that which I owe you.’’ 

Say nothing of that, Antonio,” she replied, and laid her 
hand upon my mouth. 

Strangers at that moment were announced, and I withdrew 
silently into a corner, feeling how weak I was. 

Free and independent as a bird had I been only two days 
before ! and He, who permits not a sparrow to fall unheeded 
to the ground would have cared for me ; and yet I let the first 
thin thread which twined itself around my feet grow to the 
strength of a cable. 

In Rome, thought I, thou hast true friends, true and honest, 
if not so courteous as those in Naples. I thought on Santa, 
whom I never more would see. I thought on Bernardo, 
whom I actually should meet in Naples every day — on An- 
nunciata, who would come here — on his and her happiness in 
love. ‘‘To Rome ! to Rome ! it is much better there 1 ” said 
my heart to me, whilst my soul struggled after freedom and 
independence. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI. THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI. 

H OW beautifully Salerno looked out from the sea, as, in 
the delicious morning hour, we sailed away from it. Six 
stout fellows pulled the oars. A little boy, handsome enough 
to be painted, sat at the helm : he was called Alphonso. The 
water was green as glass. The whole coast to the right 
seemed like magnificent hanging gardens, laid out by the bold 
Semiramis of fancy. The vast open caves lay like colon- 
nades down in the sea, within which played the heavy billows. 
Upon the projecting point of rock stood a castle, below whose 
turreted walls floated a small cloud. We saw Minori and 
Major! ; and, immediately afterwards, Amalfi, the birthplace 
of Masaniello and Flavio Giojas, the discoverer of the mar- 
iner’s compass, which looked forth from amidst green vine- 
yards. 

This great affluence of beauty overpowered me. Would 
that all the generations of the earth could see these glorious 
scenes ! No storm from the north or west brings cold or win- 
ter to the blooming garden upon whose terrace Amalfi is 
placed. The breezes come only here from the east and the 
south, — the warm breezes from the region of oranges and 
palms, across the beautiful sea. 

Along the shore, high up on the side of the mountain, 
hangs the city, with its white houses, with their flat, oriental 
roofs ; higher still ascend the vineyards. One solitary pine- 
tree lifts up its green crown into the blue air, where, on the 
ridge of the mountain, the old castle, with its encircling wall, 
serves as a couch for the clouds. 

The fishermen had to carry us through the surf from the 
boats to the land. Deep caves in the cliffs extended even un- 
der the city ; into some of these the water flowed, others 


THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI. 229 

were empty. Boats lay beside them, in which played crowds 
of merry children, most of them only in a skirt or little jacket, 
which constituted their whole clothing. Half-naked lazzaroni 
stretched themselves in the warm sand, their brown cowls 
pulled up about their ears, this being their most important 
covering during their noonday’s sleep. All the church-bells 
were ringing ; a procession of young priests in violet-colored 
dresses went past us, singing psalms. A fresh garland of 
flowers hung around the picture which was fastened to the 
cross. 

To the left, high above the city, stands a magnificently great 
convent, just before a deep mountain cave ; this is the herberg 
for all strangers. Francesca was carried up in a litter ; we 
others followed after, along the road cut in the rock, with the 
clear, blue sea lying deeply below us. We had now reached 
the gate of the convent, exactly opposite to which a deep cave 
gapes in the rock. Within this there were three crosses, on 
which were the Redeemer and the two thieves ; and above 
them, upon the stone of the rock, were kneeling angels in 
bright-colored garments, and great white wings. No artistical 
work this, but all carved out of wood, and painted ; but, nev- 
ertheless, a pious, trusting heart breathed its own peculiar 
beauty over the rudely formed images. 

We ascended directly up through the convent court to the 
rooms which were appropriated to our use. From my window 
I saw the eternal sea, stretching away to Sicily, the ships 
standing like silver-white points upon the far horizon. 

Sir Improvisatore,” said Gennaro, shall not we descend 
into the lower regions, and see whether the beauty there is as 
great as it is here ! The female beauty is so, of a certainty ! 
For the English ladies that we have here for neighbors are 
cold and pale ! And you have a taste for the ladies ! I beg 
your pardon. It is this exactly which has driven you out into 
the world, and will give me a charming evening, and an inter- 
esting acquaintance ! ” 

We descended the rocky path. 

“ The blind girl in Paestum was, however, very handsome ! ” 
said Gennaro. I think that I shall send for her to Naples 
when I send for my Calabrian wine ! Both one and the other 
would set my heart in a glow ! ” 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


230 

We arrived at the city, which lay, if I may so say, singularly 
piled upon itself. Beside it, the narrow Ghetto in Rome 
would have been a Corso. The streets were narrow passages 
between the tall houses, and right through them. Now one 
comes through a door into a long landing-place, with small 
openings on the sides leading into dark chambers ; then into a 
narrow lane between brick-work and walls of rock, steps up 
and steps down, a half-dark labyrinth of dirty passages ; I 
often did not know whether it was a room or a lane in which 
we were. In most places lamps were burning ; and if it had 
not been so, although it was mid-day, it would have been dark 
as night. 

At length we breathed more freely. We stood upon a great 
brick-work bridge, which connected together two ridges of 
rock j the little square below us was certainly the largest in 
the whole city. Two girls were dancing there the saltarello^ 
and a little boy, entirely naked, beautifully formed, and with 
brown limbs, stood looking on, like a little Cupid. Here, 
they told me, it never freezes. The severest cold Amalfi has 
known for many years has been eight degrees above zero. 

Close beside the little tower, upon the projecting platform 
of rock, from which is to be seen the lovely bay of Minori 
and Majori, a little serpentine path winds between aloes and 
myrtles ; and, following it, we were soon overshadowed by the 
lofty arch of entwining vines. We felt a burning thirst, and 
hastened onwards towards a little white dwelling-house, which, 
at the end of the vineyard, invited us, as it were, so kindly 
from among the fresh green. The mild, warm air, was filled 
with fragrance, and beautifully bright insects hhmmed around 
us. 

We stood before the house, which was highly picturesque. 
There had been built into the wall, by way of ornament, 
some marble capitals, and a beautifully chiseled arm and foot, 
which had been found among the rubbish. Upon the roof 
even was a charming garden of oranges and luxurious twining 
plants, which, like a curtain of green velvet, hung down over 
the wall j in the front blossomed a wilderness of monthly 
roses. Two lovely little girls, of from six to seven years old, 
played and wore garlands j but the most beautiful, however. 


THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI 23 1 

was a young woman with a white linen cloth on her head, 
who came to meet us from the door ! The intellectual glance, 
the long, dark eye-lashes, the noble form, yes, all made her 
indescribably beautiful ! We both involuntarily took off our 
hats. 

This most beautiful maiden, then, is the possessor of 
this house ? inquired Gennaro. Will she, then, as mis- 
tress of the house, give to two weary travellers a refreshing 
draught 1 ’’ 

The mistress of the house will do that with pleasure ! ” 
said she, smiling, and the snow-white teeth parted the fresh, 
rosy lips. “ I will bring out wine to you here ; but I have 
only of one kind.” 

“ If you serve it, it will be excellent ! ” said Gennaro. “ I 
drink it most willingly when a young maiden as handsome as 
you serves it.” 

But Excellenza must be so good as to talk to a wife to- 
day ! ” said she sweetly. 

“ Are you married,” asked Gennaro, smiling, “ so young ? ” 

‘‘ O, I am very old ! ” said she, and laughed also. 

“ How old .? ” inquired I. 

She looked archly into my face, and replied, Eight-and- 
twenty years old ! ” She was much nearer fifteen, but most 
beautifully developed ; a Hebe could not have been formed 
more exquisitely. 

Eight-and-twenty ! ” said Gennaro. “ A beautiful age, 
which is very becoming to you ! Have you been long mar- 
ried ? ” 

‘‘ Twenty years ! ” replied she ; only ask my daughters 
there.” And the little girls whom we had seen playing came 
towards us. 

Is that your mother ? ” inquired I, although I very well 
knew that it was not so. They looked up to her, and laughed, 
nodded thereto an assent, and clung affectionately to her. 

She brought us out wine, excellent wine, and we drank her 
health. 

‘‘ This is a poet, an improvisatore,” said Gennaro to her, 
pointing to me. ‘‘ He has been turning the heads of all the 
ladies in Naples ! But he is a stone, a queer sort of fellow. 


232 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


He hates all women ; never gave a woman a kiss in his 
life ! ’’ 

‘‘ That is impossible ! ’’ said she, and laughed. 

‘‘ I, on the contrary,’’ continued Gennaro, “ am of quite a 
different sort ; I kiss all the handsome lips that come near me, 
am the faithful attendant of woman, and thus reconcile the 
world and her wherever I go ! It is awarded to me also, and 
I assert it as my right with every handsome woman, and I 
now, of course, require here my tribute also ! ” and, so saying, 
he took her hand. 

I absolve both you and the other gentleman,” said she ; 
neither have I anything to do with paying tribute. My hus- 
band always does that ! ” 

And where is he } ” asked Gennaro. 

‘^Not far off,” she replied. 

“ Such a handsome hand I have never seen in Naples ! 
said Gennaro. ‘‘ What is the price of a kiss upon it ? ” 

A scudo,” said she. 

‘‘ And double that price upon the lips ? ” said Gennaro. 

“ That is not to be had,” returned she ; “ that is my hus- 
band’s property ! ” 

And now she poured us out again the enlivening, strong 
wine, joked and laughed with us ; and, amid her joking, we 
discovered that she was about fifteen, had been married the 
year before to a handsome young man, who, at this moment, 
was in Naples, and was not expected to return before to-mor- 
row. The little girls were her sisters, and on a visit to her till 
her husband’s return. Gennaro prayed them for a bouquet of 
roses, which they hastened to gather, and for which he prom- 
ised them a carlin. 

In vain he prayed her for a kiss ; said a thousand sweet, 
flattering things ; threw his arms around her waist ; she tore 
herself away, scolding him, but yet always came back again, 
because she found it amusing. He took a louis-d’or between 
his fingers, and told her what charming ribbons she could buy 
with it, and how beautifully she might adorn her dark hair 
with them ; and all this splendor she might have only by giv- 
ing him a kiss — one single kiss. 

“ The other Excellenza is much better ! ” said she, and 


THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI 


233 

pointed to me. My blood burned ; I took her hand, saying 
that she must not listen to him, that he was a bad man, must 
not look at his tempting gold, but must revenge herself upon 
him by giving me a kiss. 

She looked at me. 

He has,’’ continued I, “ said only one true word in all 
his speeches ; and that is, that I have never kissed the lips 
of any woman. I have kept my lips pure until I found the 
most beautiful ; and now I hope that you will reward my vir- 
tue ! ” 

He is actually an accomplished tempter ! ” said Gennaro. 

He excels me by being so accustomed to his work.” 

You are a bad man with your money,” said she ; and for 
that you shall see that I care neither for it nor for a kiss, and 
so the poet shall have it ! ” 

With this, she pressed her hands on my cheeks, her lips 
touched mine, and she vanished behind the house. 

When the sun went down, I sat up in my little chamber in 
the convent, and looked from the window over the sea ; it was 
rosy red, and threw up long billows on the shore. The fisher- 
men pulled up their boats on the sand ; and, as the darkness 
increased, the lights became brighter, the billows were of a 
sulphur-blue. Over everything prevailed infinite stillness ; 
in the midst of which I heard a choral song of fishermen on 
the shore, with women and children. The soprano of the chil- 
dren’s voices mingled itself with the deep bass, and a senti- 
ment of melancholy filled my soul. A falling star for a 
moment played in the heavens, and then shot downward be- 
hind the vineyards, where the lively young woman had kissed 
me in the day-time. I thought of her, how lovely she was, 
and of the blind girl, the image of beauty amid the ruins of 
the temple ; but Annunciata stood in the background, intel- 
lectually and physically beautiful, and thus doubly beautiful ! 
My spirit expanded itself ; my soul burned with love, with 
longing ; with a deep sense of what it had lost. The pure 
flame which Annunciata had kindled in my heart, the altar- 
fire of which she was the priestess, she had herself stirred up 
and left j the fire now burned wildly through the whole 
building. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


234 

“ Eternal Mother of God ! ” prayed I ; my breast is full 
of love, my heart is ready to burst with longing and regret ! 
And I seized upon the roses which stood in the glass, pressed 
the most beautiful of them to my lips, and thought on Annun- 
ciata. 

I could not bear it any longer, and went down to the sea- 
side, where the shining billows broke along the shore, where 
the fishermen sang and the wind blew. I mounted the brick- 
work bridge, where I had stood during the da}^ A figure 
wrapped in a large cloak stole close by me ; I saw that it 
was Gennaro. He went up the serpentine road to the little 
white house, and I followed him. He now softly passed the 
window, within which a light was burning. Here I took my 
station, concealed by the depending vine leaves, and could see 
distinctly into the room. There was, exactly on the other side 
of the house, a similar window, and some high steps led to 
the side chamber. 

The two little girls, undressed to their night-clothes, were 
kneeling with their elder sister, the mistress of the house, as 
she really was, between them, before the table, on which stood 
the crucifix and the lamp, and were singing their evening de- 
votions. It was the Madonna with two angels, a living altar- 
piece, as if painted by Raphael, which I saw before me. Her 
dark eyes were cast upwards ; the hair hung in rich folds 
upon her naked shoulders, and the hands were folded upon 
the youthfully beautiful bosom. 

My pulse beat more quickly ; I scarcely ventured to breathe. 
Now all three arose from their knees ; she went with the little 
girls up the steps into the side room, closed the door, and 
then went into the first room, where she busied herself about 
her small household affairs. I saw her presently take out of 
a drawer a red pocket-book, turn it about in her hand many 
times and smile ; she was just about to open it, but shook 
her head at that moment, and threw it again into the drawer, 
as if something had surprised her. 

A moment afterwards I heard a low tapping upon the oppo- 
site window. Terrified, she looked towards it and listened. 
It tapped again, and I heard some one speak, but could not 
distinguish the words. 


THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI. 235 

“ Excellenza ! now exclaimed she aloud ; ‘‘ what do you 
want ! ” Why do you come here at this hour ? For Heaven’s 
sake ! I am angry, very angry.” 

He again said something. 

“Yes, yes, it is true,” said she, “you have forgotten your 
pocket-book ; my little sister has been down to the inn to give 
it to you, but you were up in the convent. To-morrow morn- 
ing she would have gone there to you. Here it is.” 

She took it frpm the drawer. He again said something, to 
which she shook her head. 

“ No ! no ! ” said she ; “what are you thinking of? I shall 
not open the door ; you shall not come in ! ” 

So saying, she went to the window, and opened it, to give 
him the pocket-book. He snatched at her hand, she let the 
book fall, and it remained lying on the window-sill. Gennaro 
put his head in ; the young wife flew to the window behind 
which I stood, and I could now hear every word which Gen- 
naro said. 

“ And you will not allow me to kiss your lovely hand as 
thanks ; not receive the smallest reward ; not reach me a 
single cup of wine ? I am parched with thirst. There can- 
not be anything wrong in that ! Why not permit me to come 
in?” 

“ No ! ” said she ; “ we have nothing to talk about at this 
hour. Take that which you have forgotten, and let me close 
the window.” 

“ I will not go,” said Gennaro, “ before you give me your 
hand, before you give me a kiss. You cheated me out of one 
to-day, and gave it to that stupid youth ! ” 

“ No ! no ! ” said she, and yet laughed in the midst of her 
anger. “You want to obtain by force what I would not 
give freely,” said she ; “ therefore I shall not — will not, 
do it.” 

“ It is the last time,” said Gennaro, in a soft and beseech- 
ing tone, “ of a certainty the last time ; and can you refuse 
only just giving me your hand ? More I do not desire, al- 
though my heart has a thousand things to say to you ! Ma- 
donna wills it really that we human beings love one another 
like brother and sister ! Like a brother I will divide my 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


236 

money with you ; you can adorn yourself, and be twice as 
handsome as you are ! All your friends will envy you ; no^ 
body will know/’ And with these words he gave a quick 
spring, and stood within the room. 

She uttered a loud scream, “ Jesus, Maria ! ” 

I shook the window violently where I stood ; the glass jin- 
gled, and, as if driven by an invisible power, I flew round to 
the open window, tearing away a support from one of the 
vine-trellises, that I might have with me some kind of weapon. 

Is it thou, Nicolo t ” cried she, loudly. 

‘‘ It is I ! ” cried I, in a deep, resolute voice. 

I saw Gennaro again fly out of the window, his cloak stream- 
ing in the wind. The lamp was knocked out, and it remained 
quite dark in the room. 

‘‘ Nicolo ! ” cried she from the window, and her voice trem- 
bled. “ Thou here again ! Madonna be praised ! ” 

Signora ! ” stammered I. 

All ye saints ! ” I heard her say, and shut to the window 
with all haste. I stood there as if riveted to the spot. After 
some moments, I heard her go softly across the floor. The 
door of the side chamber was opened and then, closed again; 
I heard her knocking something, as if she were making bolts 
secure. 

Now she is safe,” thought I, and crept softly away. I felt 
myself so well, so wonderfully gay at heart. “Now I have 
paid for the kiss which she gave me to-day,” said I to myself ; 
“perhaps she would have given me yet another, had she 
known what a protecting angel I have been to her ! ” 

I reached the convent exactly as supper was ready ; no one 
had missed me. Gennaro, however, did not make his appear- 
ance, and Francesca became uneasy. Fabiani sent messenger 
on messenger. At length he came. He had walked, he said, 
as far as the mountains, and had lost himself, but had had the 
luck to meet at length with a peasant, who had put him in the 
right way. 

“Your coat is, also, quite in tatters,” said Francesca. 

“Yes,” said Gennaro, taking a biscuit, “the missing piece 
hangs on a thorn-bush ; I saw it, however ! Heaven knows 
bow I could ever lose my way so ! But it was all the lovely 


THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI. 


237 

evening, and then the darkness came on so quickly, and I 
thought of shortening my way, and precisely by that means 
lost it ! 

We laughed at his adventure ; I knew it better ; we drank 
to his health ; the wine was excellent ; we became regularly 
excited. When we at length went to our chambers, which 
were only divided by a door from each other, he came before 
he undressed into mine, laughed, and, laying his hand upon 
my shoulder, prayed me not to dream too much about the 
handsome woman that we had seen to-day. 

‘‘But I had the kiss ! ’’ said I, jestingly. 

“ O yes, that you had ! said he, laughing ; “ and do you 
think, therefore, that I came off with the step-child's por- 
tion ? 

“ Yes, so I think ! ” returned I. 

“ Step-child, however, I never should remain, “ said he in a 
cold tone, in which was a certain degree of bitterness ; but 
a faint smile played again around his mouth as he whis- 
pered, “ if you could keep your counsel, I could tell you some- 
thing ? ’’ 

“ Tell me,’’ said I : “nobody shall hear a syllable from me.” 
I expected now to hear his lamentations over his unfortunate 
adventure j his secret was this : — 

“I forgot, to-day, intentionally, my pocket-book, at the 
handsome woman’s house, that I might have an excuse for 
going there in the evening, for then women are not so strict. 
There it is : I have been there, and with climbing over the 
garden-wall and up among the bushes I tore my coat.” 

“ And the handsome woman ? ” I inquired. 

“ Was twice as handsome ! ” said he, nodding significantly, 
— “ twice as handsome, and not a bit stern ; we were quite 
good friends, that I know ! She gave you one kiss — she 
gave me a thousand, and her heart into the bargain. I shall 
dream about my good luck all the night. Poor Antonio ! ” 

And, so saying, he kissed his hand to me and went to his 
own room. 

The morning heaven was covered as if with a gray veil, 
when we left the convent. Our stout rowers waited for us on 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


238 

the shore, and again carried us to our boat. Our voyage was 
now to Capri. The veil of heaven was rent asunder into 
light clouds ; the air became twofold high and clear ; not a 
billow moved ; the soft curling of the sea was like a watered 
cloth. The beautiful Amalfi vanished behind the cliffs ; Gen- 
naro threw a kiss towards it, whilst he said to me, ‘‘ There 
we have plucked roses 1 ” 

“ You, at all events, got among the thorns ! ’’ thought I, and 
nodded assentingly. 

The great, infinite sea, stretching on to Sicily and Africa, 
spread itself before us. To the left lay the rocky coast of 
Italy, with its singular caves ; before some of these stood little 
cities, which seemed as if they had stepped out of the caves ; 
in others sat fishermen, and cooked their meals and tarred 
their boats behind the high surf. 

The sea seemed to be a fat, blue oil ; we put our hands 
down into it, and they appeared as blue as it. The shadow 
which the boat threw upon the water was of the purest dark- 
blue j the shadows of the oars a moving snake of every shade 
of blue. 

Glorious sea ! exclaimed I, in delight, “ nothing in all 
nature, with the exception of Heaven, is so beautiful as 
thou ! ’’ 

I called to mind how often I, as a child, had lain upon my 
back, and dreamed myself up into the blue infinite air ; now 
my dream seemed to have become a reality. 

We passed by three small rocky islands, II Galli ; they 
were immense blocks of stone thrown one upon another ; 
giant towers raised up out of the deep, with others, again, 
piled upon them. The blue billows dashed up upon these 
masses of stone. In storm it must be a Scylla, with her 
howling dogs. 

The surface of the water slumbered around the naked stony 
Cape Minerva, where in old times the Sirens had their abode. 
Before us lay the romantic Capri, where Tiberius had luxuri- 
ated in joy, and looked* over the bay to the coast of Naples. 
The sail was spread in our boat ; and, borne onward by the 
wind and the waves, we approached the island. Now, for the 
first time, we remarked the extraordinary purity and clearness 


THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI 


239 

of the water. It was as wonderfully transparent as if it had 
been air. We glided along, every stone, every reed, for many 
fathoms below us, being visible. I became dizzy when I 
looked down from the edge of our little boat into the depth 
over which we were passing. 

The island of Capri is approachable only from one side. 
Around it ascend steep, perpendicular walls of cliff j towards 
Naples they stretch out, amphitheatre-like, with vineyards, 
orange ; and olive groves ; upon the shore stand several cot- 
tages of fishermen and a watch-house ; higher up, amid the 
green gardens looks the little city of Anacapri, into which a 
very small draw-bridge and gates conduct the stranger. We 
betook ourselves to the small inn of Pagani to rest ourselves. 

After dinner we were to ride up on asses to the ruins of 
Tiberius’s villa, but now, however, we waited for our break- 
fast, and between that and the following meal Francesca and 
Fabiani wished to repose themselves, in order to have strength 
for the afternoon’s walk. Gennaro and I felt no necessity for 
this. The island did not appear so large to me, but that in a 
few hours we could row round it, and see the lofty portals of 
rock which, towards the south, rear themselves isolated ly out 
of the sea. 

We took a boat and two rowers ; the wind blew a little, 
so that for half the distance we could make use of the sail. 
The sea was broken on the low reef. Fishing-nets lay out- 
spread among them, so that we were obliged to go a consider- 
able distance from them ; it was a beautiful, merry sail in that 
little boat ! Before long we saw only the perpendicular cliffs 
ascending from the sea up towards heaven j in the crevices 
of which, however, here and there, sprang up an aloe, or gilly- 
flower, yet with no footing even for the mountain goat. Below 
the surf, which flew up like blue fire, grew upon the rocks the 
blood-red sea-apple, which, wetted by the waves, seemed to 
have a doubly bright hue ; it was as if the rocks bled at every 
stroke of the billows. 

The open sea now lay to the right of us, to the left of us 
lay the island ; deep caves, whose uppermost openings lay but 
a little above the water, showed themselves in the cliffs, others 
were only dimly visible in the surf. Down amid these abode 


240 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


the Sirens ; the blooming Capri, upon which we had climbed, 
being only the roof of their rock-fortress. 

‘‘Yes, bad spirits live here,’’ said one of the rowers, an old 
man with silver-white hair. It may be beautiful down 
there,” said he ; “ but they never let their victims escape, and, 
if by any chance one does come back, he has no longer any 
understanding for this world ! ” 

He now showed us at some distance an opening, somewhat 
larger than the others, but yet not large enough for our boat 
to enter, without a sail, even if we had lain down in it, either 
for length or breadth. 

“ That is the Witches’ Cave ! ” ^ whispered the younger rower, 
and pushed out further from the rocks. “ Within, all is gold 
and diamonds, but any one who goes in there is burned up in 
a fiery flame ! Santa Lucia, pray for us ! ” 

“ I wish I had one of the Sirens here in the boat ! ” said 
Gennaro ; “ but she must be beautiful, then all would be 
right’ 

“ Your luck with the ladies,” said I, laughing, “ would avail 
you, then, here also ! ” 

“ Upon the swelling sea is the right place for kissing and 
embracing ! that is what the waves are always at ! Ah ! ” 
sighed he, “ if we had but here the handsome woman from 
Amalfi ! That was a woman ! was not she ? You sipped of 

^ This is the name given by the inhabitants of Capri to the Blue Grotto, 
which was only properly explored in 1831 by two young Germans, Fries 
and Kopisch, and since then is become the goal of every traveller who 
Visits South Italy. Kopisch was born in Breslau, and is the author of a 
beautiful novel called Die Kahlkbpfe auf Capri ; in 1837 his poems were 
published. — AutkoPs Note. 

Ernst Fries was a landscape painter of extraordinary promise, the son 
of Mr. Fries, the well-known and hospitable banker of Heidelberg. Ernst 
Fries spent many years in Italy, and his finest pieces are scenes from that 
beautiful country. He died suddenly, while yet quite young, at Carls- 
ruhe, and lies^ buried under a beautiful monument in one of the burial- 
grounds in Heidelberg. In memory of him, his fellow-townspeople have 
laid out a fine public walk, leading from the splendid ruins of their cele- 
brated castle round the hill to the very ancient site of the Roman Castle. 
A graceful and beautiful mark of respect to the memory of one who would 
so truly have enjoyed the luxury of its exquisite scenery. The road 
bears the name of the “Friesen Weg,” in honor of him. — Translator’s 
Note. 


THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI, 24 1 

the nectar of her lips ! Poor Antonio ! You should have 
seen her last evening ! She was gracious to me ! 

“ Nay, nay,’^ said I, half indignant at his unabashed boast- 
ing, “ it is not so ; I know better than that ! ” 

“ How am I to understand that ? asked he, and looked 
with much astonishment into my face. 

“ I saw it myself,” continued I ; “ chance led me there ; I 
doubt not of your great good fortune in other cases ; but this 
time you only wish to joke with me.” 

He looked at me in silence. 

‘‘ ‘ I will not go,’ ” said I, laughing, and imitating Gennaro, 
“ ‘ before you give me the kiss which you cheated me out of, 
and gave it to that foolish youth ! ’ ” 

“ Signor ! you have listened to me ! ” said he, gravely, and 
I saw that his countenance became quite pale. ‘‘ How dare 
you affront me ? You shall fight with me, or I despise you ! ” 

This was an effect which I did not anticipate that my re- 
marks would have produced. 

“ Gennaro, this is not your serious meaning,” exclaimed I, 
and took his hand ; he drew it back, made me no reply, but 
desired the sailors to make for the land. 

‘‘ Yes, we must sail round the island,” said the old man ; 
“ we can only land where we set out from.” 

They bent to their oars, and we speedily approached the 
lofty arch of rock in the blue swelling water ; but anger and 
vexation agitated my mind ; I looked at Gennaro, who lashed 
the water with his stick. 

^^Una tromba exclaimed the youngest of the seamen; 
and across the sea from Cape Minerva came floating a coal- 
black cloud pillar in an oblique direction from the sea towards 
heaven, the water boiling around it. With all speed they took 
down the sail. 

“ Where are you steering to ? ” inquired Gennaro. 

“ Back again, back again,” said the younger rower. 

“ Around the whole island again ? ” inquired I. 

“ Close under land ; close to the rocky wall ; the water- 
spout takes a direction further out.” 

“ The surf will draw the boat in among the rocks,” said the 
old man, and hurriedly snatched at the oars. 

16 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


242 

“ Eternal God ! ’’ stammered I, for the black cloud-pillar 
came with the speed of the wind across the water, as if it 
would sweep along the rocky wall of Capri, in the neighbor- 
hood of which we were, and, if it came, it w^ould either whirl 
us up with it, or force us down into the deep close by the per- 
pendicular rocky coast. I seized upon the oar with the old 
man, and Gennaro assisted the younger ; but we already 
heard the winds howling, and the waters boiled before the 
feet of the water-spout, which drove us, as it were, before it. 

“ Santa Lucia, save us ! cried both the seamen, flinging 
down their oars, and falling on their knees. 

“ Snatch hold of the oar,’^ cried Gennato to me, but looked 
towards heaven pale as death. 

Then rushed the tempest over our heads ; and to the left, 
not far from us, went the dark night over the waves, w^hich 
lifted themselves up in the air, and then struck white with 
foam upon the boat. The atmosphere pressed heavily upon 
us, as if it would force the blood out of the eyes ; it became 
night — the night of death. I was conscious but of one thing, 
and that was, that the sea lay upon me ; that I, that we all, 
were the prey of the sea, of death ; and further I was con- 
scious of nothing. 

More terrible than the might of the volcano, overpowering 
as the separation from Annunciata, stands the sight before me 
which met my eyes, when they again opened to consciousness. 
Far below me, above me, and around me, was blue ether. I 
moved my arm, and, like electric sparks of fire, millions of 
falling stars glittered around me. I was carried along by the 
current of air ; I was certainly dead, I thought, and now was 
floated through ethereal space up to the heaven of God, yet a 
heavy weight lay on my head, and that was my earthly sin, 
which bowed me down ; the current of air passed over my 
head, and it was like the cold sea. I mechanically put out 
my hands to grasp whatever might be near me ; I felt a solid 
substance, and clung firmly to it. A weariness, as of death, 
went through my whole being ; I felt that I had neither life 
nor strength within me ; my corpse rested certainly within the 
depths of the sea ; it was my soul which now ascended to its 
fate. 


THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI. 


243 

“ Annunciata ! ’’ sighed I. My eyes again opened. This 
swoon must certainly have lasted a long time. I breathed 
again ; I felt that I was stronger, and that my perception was 
distinct. I lay upon a cold, hard mass, as if on a point of 
rock, aloft in the infinitely blue ether which was lighted up 
around me. Above me vaulted itself the heavens with sin- 
gular ball-shaped clouds, blue as itself ; all was at rest, infi- 
nitely quiet. I felt, however, an icy coldness through my 
whole being ; I slowly raised my hand. My clothing was of 
blue fire ; my hands shone like silver, and yet I felt that they 
were my bodily hands. My mind constrained itself to action ; 
did I belong to death or to life ? 1 extended my hand down 

into the strangely shining air below me ; it was water into 
which I thrust it, blue, like burning spirit, but cold as the 
sea. Close beside me stood a column, unshapely and tall, of 
a sparkling blue, and like the water-spout upon the sea, only 
of a smaller size. Was it my terror or my remembrance 
which presented to me this image ? After some moments I 
ventured to touch it ; it was as hard as stone, and as cold as 
it also ; I stretched out my hands into the half-dark space be- 
hind me, and felt only hard, smooth wall, but dark-blue, as 
the night heavens. 

Where was I ? Was that below me, which I had taken for 
air, a shining sea, which burned of a sulphurous blue, but 
without heat ; was the illumined space around me this, or was 
it light-diffusing walls of rock, and arches high above me ? 
Was it the abode of death, the cell of the grave for my im- 
mortal spirit ? An earthly habitation it certainly was not. 
Every object was illumined in every shade of blue ; I myself 
was enwrapped in a glory which gave out light. 

Close beside me was an immense flight of steps, which 
seemed to be made of vast sapphires, every step being a 
gigantic block of this sparkling stone ; I ascended these, but 
a wall of rock forbade all further advance. Perhaps I was 
unworthy to approach any nearer to heaven. I had left the 
world, burdened with the wrath of a human being. Where 
was Gennaro ? Where were the two seamen ? I was quite 
alone, quite alone. I thought of my mother, of Domenica, 
of Francesca, of every one ; I felt that my fancy created no 


244 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


deception ; the glory which I beheld was, like myself, either 
spiritual or physical. 

In a crevice of the cliff, I saw an object standing ; I touched 
it. It was a large and heavy copper cup, which was full of 
gold and silver coins ; I felt the individual pieces, and my 
situation appeared to me stranger than before. Close to the 
surface of the water, and not far from where I stood, I saw a 
clear blue star, which cast a single, long ray of light, pure as 
ether, over the mirror of the water, and, while yet I looked at 
it, I saw it darken itself like the moon, a black object showed 
itself, and a little boat glided onward over the burning blue 
water. It was as if it had ascended out of the deep, and then 
floated upon its surface ; an old man slowly rowed it forward, 
and the water shone red as crimson at every stroke of his 
oars. In the other part of the boat sat also a human figure, 
a girl, as I soon could see. Silent, immovable as images of 
stone, they sat, excepting that the old man worked the oars. 
A strangely deep sigh reached my ear ; it seemed to me that I 
recognized the sound. They rowed round in a circle, and ap- 
proached the place where I stood. The old man laid his oars 
in the boat ; the girl raised her hand on high, and exclaimed 
in a voice of deep suffering, ‘‘Mother of God, forsake me 
not ! Here am I, indeed, as thou hast said.” 

“ Lara ! ” I cried aloud. 

It was she ; I knew the voice. I recognized the form ; it 
was Lara, the blind girl, from the ruined temple in Paestum. 

“ Give me my eyesight ! Let me behold God’s beautiful 
world ! ” said she. 

It was as if the dead had spoken ; my very soul trembled. 
She demanded now from me the beauty of the world, after 
which I, by my song, had breathed into her soul deep long- 
ings. 

“ Give me ” — stammered her lips, and she sank back into 
the boat, and the water splashed like fire drops around it. 

For a moment the old man bent himself over her, and then 
came out to where I stood. His glance rested upon me ; I 
saw him make the sign of the cross in the air, take up the 
heavy copper vessel, which he placed in the boat, and then 
entered himself. I instinctively followed after him. His sin- 


THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI, 245 

gularly dark glance was fixed immovably upon me \ he now 
snatched up the oars, and we floated on towards the shining 
star. A cold current of air rushed towards us ; I bent myself 
over Lara. A narrow opening of rock now shut us in, but 
only for a moment, and then the sea, the great sea, in its infi- 
nite expanse, lay before us, and behind us reared themselves 
up to heaven the perpendicular cliffs. It was a little, dark 
opening through which we had come ; close beside us was a 
low flat, overgrown with scattered bushes and dark-red flow- 
ers. The new moon shone wonderfully clear. 

Lara raised herself up. I ventured not to touch her hand ; 
she was a spirit, I believed. The whole were spirits j no 
dream images of my fancy. 

“ Give me the herbs 1 ” said she, and stretched out her 
hand. I felt that I must obey the voice of the spirit. I saw 
the red flowers growing upon the green bushes on the low flat 
under the high cliffs. I stepped out of the boat, gathered the 
flowers, which had a very peculiar smell ; I offered them to her. 
A weariness, as of death, went through my limbs, and I sank 
down on my knee, but not without perceiving that the old man 
made the sign of the cross, took from me the flowers, and then 
lifted Lara into a large boat which lay just by ; the lesser one 
remained fastened to the shore. The sail was spread, and 
they sailed away over the sea. 

I stretched my hands after them, but death lay as heavily 
on my heart as if it were about to break. 

“ He lives ! were the first words which I again heard. I 
opened my eyes, and saw Fabiani and Francesca, who stood 
with yet a third person, a stranger, beside me ; he held my 
hand, and looked gravely and thoughtfully into my face. 

I was lying in a large, handsome room ; it was day. Where 
was I ? Fever burned in my blood, and only slowly and by 
degrees I became aware how I had come there, and how I had 
been saved. 

When Gennaro and I did not return, they had become very 
uneasy about us, neither could any tidings be gained of the 
men who went with us, and, as a water-spout had been seen to 
pass southward round the coast, our fate became decided. 
Two fishing-boats were immediately sent out to make the cir- 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


246 

cuit of the island, so that they might meet each other, but not 
a trace of either us or our boat could they discover. Fran- 
cesca had wept ; she was very kind to me ; she lamented with 
pain the deaths of Gennaro and the two seamen. Fabiani 
would not be satisfied without himself going out to search ; 
he resolved to examine every little crevice of the rocks, to see 
whether some of us might not have saved ourselves by swim- 
ming, and might perhaps be even then enduring the most 
horrible of deaths — that of distress and hunger ; for from 
not one single place was it possible to climb up to human be- 
ings. In the early morning, therefore, he had gone out with 
four strong rowers, had visited the isolated rocky portals of 
the sea, and every individual chasm of rock. The rowers 
were unwilling to approach the terrific Witches’ Cave, but Fa- 
biani commanded them to steer there towards the little green 
flat. As he approached the place, he saw, at no great dis- 
tance, a human being lying outstretched ; it was myself. I 
lay like a corpse among the green bushes ; my dress was half 
dried by the winds ; they took me into the boat ; he covered 
me with his cloak, rubbed my hands and my breast, and per- 
ceived that I breathed faintly. They made for land, and, un- 
der the care of the physician, I was again among the number 
of the living. Gennaro and the two seamen were nowhere to 
be found. 

They made me tell them all that I could remember, and 1 
told them of the singularly beaming cave in which I had awoke, 
of the boat with the old fisherman and the blind girl, and they 
said it was my imagination, a feverish dream in the night air ; 
even I myself felt as if I ought to think so, and yet I could 
not, it stood all so livingly before my soul. 

“ Was he then found by the Witches’ Cave ? ” inquired the 
physician, and shook his head. 

You do not, then, believe that this place has a more po- 
‘ent influence than any other ? ” asked Fabiani. 

“Nature is a chain of riddles,” said the physician; “we 
have only found out the easiest.” 

It became day in my soul. The Witches’ Cave, that world 
of which our seamen had spoken, where all was gleaming fire 
and beams ! — had the sea, then, borne me in there ? I re- 


THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRL 247 

membered the narrow opening through which I had sailed out 
of it. Was it reality, or a dream ? Had I looked into a 
spiritual world ? The mercy of the Madonna had saved and 
protected me. My thoughts dreamed themselves back again 
into the beamingly beautiful hall where my protecting angel 
was called Lara. 

In truth, the whole was no dream. I had seen that which 
not until some years afterwards had been discovered, and now 
is the most beautiful object in Capri, nay, in Italy, the Grotta 
Azzurra. The female form was really the blind girl from Paes- 
turn. But how could I believe it ? — how imagine it to be so ? 
It was, indeed, very strange. I folded my hands, and thought 
upon mv euardian angel. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


JOURNEY HOME. 



RANCESCA and Fabiani remained yet two days in 


i Capri, that we might be able to make the journey back to 
Naples together. If I had formerly been many times wounded 
by their mode of speaking to me, and their treatment of me, I 
now received so much affection from ■ them, and they had 
showed so much solicitude about me, that I clung to them with 
my whole heart. 

“ Thou must go with us to Rome,” they said ; “ that is the 
most rational and the best thing for thee.” 

My singular deliverance, the wonderful appearance in the 
cave, operated greatly on my excited state of mind. I felt 
myself so wholly in the hand of the invisible guide who lov- 
ingly directs all for the best, that I now regarded all chances 
as in the ruling of Providence, and was resigned ; and, there- 
fore, when Francesca kindly pressed my hand, and asked me 
whether I had a desire to live in Naples with Bernardo, I as- 
sured her that I must and would go to Rome. 

We should have shed many tears for thee, Antonio,” said 
Francesca, and pressed my hand ; ‘‘thou art our good child. 
Madonna has held her protecting hand over thee.” 

“ Excellenza shall know,” said Fabiani, “ that the Antonio 
with whom he was angry is drowned in the Mediterranean, and 
that we are bringing back home with us the old, excellent 
Antonio 1 ” 

“ Poor Gennaro ! ” sighed Francesca then ; “ he possessed 
a noble heart, life, and spirit. In everything he was a mas- 


ter!” 


The physician sat beside me for many hours ; he was prop- 
erly from Naples, and was only on a visit in Capri. On the 
third day he accompanied us back. He said that I was per- 


JOURNEY HOME. 


249 


fectly well, bodily at least, though not spiritually. I had 
looked into the kingdom of death — had felt the kiss of the 
angel of death upon my brow. The mimosa of youth had 
folded together its leaves. 

When we were seated in the boat, with the physician in 
company, and I saw the clear, transparent water, all the recol- 
lections of the past crowded themselves upon my soul, and I 
thought how near I had been to death, and how wonderfully 
I had been saved. I felt that life was still so beautiful, and 
tears rushed to my eyes. All my three companions occupied 
themselves alone with me, nay, Francesca herself talked of 
my beautiful talent, called me a poet ; and when the physician 
heard that it was I who had improvised, he told what delight 
I had given to all his friends, and how transported they had 
been with me. 

The wind was in our favor, and instead of sailing direct to 
Sorrento, as had at first been determined, and of going from 
thence overland to Naples, we now sailed directly up to the 
capital. In my lodging I found three letters, one from Fed- 
erigo ; he had again set off to Ischia, and would not return 
for three days ; this distressed me, for thus I should not be 
able to bid him farewell, because our departure was fixed for 
the noon of the following day. The second letter, the waiter 
told me, had been brought the morning after I had set out \ I 
opened it, and read : — 

“ A faithful heart, which intends honorably and kindly to- 
wards you, expects you this evening.^’ Then was given the 
house and the number, but no name, only the words, “Your 
old friend.’^ 

The third letter was from the same hand, and contained : — 

“ Come, Antonio ! The terror of the last unfortunate mo- 
ment of our parting is now well over. Come quickly ! — 
regard it as a misunderstanding. All may be right ; only 
delay not a moment in coming ! ” The same signature as be- 
fore. 

That these were from Santa was to me sufficiently evident ; 
although she had chosen another house than hers for our 
meeting. I resolved not to see her again ; wrote in haste a 
few polite words to her husband, that I was leaving Naples, 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


^50 

that the hurry m which our arrangements were made forbade 
me to pay him a farewell visit ; I thanked him for his and his 
signora’s politeness to me, and besought them not to forget 
me. For Federigo I wrote, also, a little note ; promised him 
a regularly long letter from Rome, because I was not now in a 
condition to write. 

I went out nowhere, for I wished not to meet Bernardo, and 
saw none of my new friends. The only person whom I visited 
was the physician, and I drove to his house with Fabiani. 
His was a charming and friendly home : his eldest sister, an 
unmarried lady, kept his house. There was a something so 
affectionate, something so truthful about her, that I was im- 
mediately taken with her. I could not help thinking of old 
Domenica, only that she was accomplished, was possessed of 
talents and higher perfections. 

The next morning, the last which I was to spend in Naples, 
my eye dwelt, with a melancholy sentiment, upon Vesuvius, 
which I now saw for the last time ; but thick clouds enveloped 
the top of the mountain, which seemed as if it would not say 
to me farewell. 

The sea was perfectly tranquil. I thought upon my dream- 
pictures — Lara in the glittering grotto — and soon would all 
my whole residence here in Naples be like a dream ! I took 
up the paper “ Diaro di Napoli,” which the waiter brought in : I 
saw my own name in it, and a critique on my first appearance. 
Full of curiosity, I read it : my rich fancy and my beautiful ver- 
sification were in particular most highly praised. It was said 
that I seemed to be of the school of Pangetti, only that I had 
a little too much followed my master. I knew nothing at all 
about this Pangetti, that was certain ; and, therefore, could 
not have formed myself upon that model. Nature and my 
own feelings had alone been my guides. But the greatest 
number of critics are so little original themselves, that they 
believe, that all whom they pass judgment upon must have 
some model to copy. The public had awarded me a greater 
applause than this ; although the critic said that in time I 
should become a master, and that I was now already possessed 
of uncommon talent, rich imagination, feeling, and inspiration. 
I folded together the paper, and resolved to keep it : it would 


JOURNEY HOME, 


251 

some time be a token to me, that all this which I had lived 
through here was not a dream. I had seen Naples, had 
moved about in it, had won and had lost much. Was Fulvia’s 
brilliant prophecy all come to an end ? 

We left Naples ; the lofty vineyards disappeared from our 
sight. In four days we made the journey back to Rome ; the 
same way which, about two months before, I had travelled 
with Federigo and Santa. I saw again Mola di Gaeta and its 
gardens of oranges : the trees were now fragrant wdth blos- 
soms. I went into the path where Santa had sat and heard 
my life’s adventure : how many important circumstances had 
since that time knit themselves to it 1 We drove through the 
dirty ltd, and I thought upon Federigo. At the frontiers, 
where our passports were given up for inspection, some goats 
yet stood in the cave of the rock as he had painted them \ but 
the little boy I saw not. We passed the night at Terracina. 

The next morning, the atmosphere was infinitely clear. I 
said my farewell to the sea, which had pressed me in its arms, 
had lulled me into the most beautiful dream, and had shown 
me Lara, my image of beauty. In the far distance I yet per- 
( eived, on the clear horizon, Vesuvius, with its pale-blue pillar 
( f smoke : the whole was as if breathed in air upon the bril- 
iant firmament. 

“ Farewell ! farewell ! away to Rome, where stands my 
grave,” sighed I ; and the carriage bowled us away, over the 
green marshes, to Velletri. I greeted the mountains where I 
had gone with Fulvia : I saw again Genzano, drove over the 
very spot where my mother had been killed ; where I, as a 
child, had lost my all in this world. And here I now came, 
like an educated gentleman : beggars called me Excellenza, 
as I looked out into the street. Was I now really happier 
than I had been at that former time ? 

We drove through Albano, the Campagna lay before us. 
We saw the tomb of Ascanius, with its thick ivy, by the way- 
side ; further on, the monuments, the long aqueduct, and now 
Rome, with the cupola of St. Peter’s. 

‘‘A cheerful countenance, Antonio,” said Fabiani, as we 
rolled in at the Porta San Giovanni. The Later an Church, 
the tall Obelisk, the Coliseum, and Trajan’s Square, all told 


THE IMFRO VISA TORE, 


252 

me that I was at home. Like a dream of the night, and yet 
like a whole year of my life, floated before me the circum- 
stances of the last few weeks. How dull and dead was every- 
thing here, in comparison with Naples ! The long Corso was 
no Toledo Street. I saw again well-known countenances 
around me. Habbas Dahdah went tripping past, and saluted 
us, as he recognized the carriage. In the corner of the Via 
Condotti sat Peppo, with his wooden clogs upon his hands. 

“ Now we are at home,” said Francesca. 

“Yes, home!” repeated I; and a thousand emotions agi 
tated my breast. In a few moments, I should stand, like a 
schoolboy, before Excellenza. I shrunk from the meeting ] 
and yet it seemed to me that the horses did not fly fast 
enough. 

We drew up at the Palazzo Borghese. 

Two small rooms, in the highest story, were appropriated 
to me. But I had not yet seen Excellenza. We were now 
summoned to table. I bowed deeply before him. 

“ Antonio can sit between me and Francesca,” were the first 
words which I heard him say. 

The conversation was easy and natural. Every moment I 
expected that a bitter remark would be aimed at me j but not 
a word, not the least reference, was made to my having been 
away, or to Excellenza having been displeased with me, as his 
letter had said. 

This gentleness affected me. I doubly prized the affection 
which met me thus ; and yet there were times when my pride 
felt itself wounded, because — I had met with no reproof. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


EDUCATION. — THE YOUNG ABBESS. 

T he Palazzo Borghese was now my home. I was treated 
with much more mildness and kindness. Sometimes, 
however, the old teaching tone, the wounding, depreciating 
mode of treating me, returned ; but I knew that it was in- 
tended for my good. 

During the hottest months, they left Rome, and I was alone 
in the great palace : towards winter they returned, and the old 
results were again produced. They seemed to forget, in the 
mean time, that I had become older, that I was no longer a 
child in the Campagna, who regarded every word which was 
spoken as an article of faith; or a scholar from the Jesuits^ 
school, who continually and continually must be educated. 

Like a mighty sea, where billow is knit to billow, lies an in- 
terval of six years before me. I had swum over it : God be 
praised ! Thou who hast followed me through my life’s ad- 
ventures, fly rapidly after. The impression of the whole I 
will give thee in a few touches. It was the combat of my 
spiritual education ; the journeyman treated as an apprentice, 
before he could come forth as a master. 

I was considered as an excellent young man of talent, out 
of whom something might be made ; and, therefore, every one 
took upon himself my education. My dependence permitted 
it to those with whom I stood connected ; my good-nature 
permitted it to all the rest. Livingly and deeply did I feel 
the bitterness of my position, and yet I endured it. That was 
an education. 

Excellenza lamented over my want of the fundamental 
principles of knowledge : it mattered not how much soever I 
might read : it was nothing but the sweet honey, which was 
to serve for my trade, which I sucked out of books. The 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


254 

friends of the house, as well as of my patrons, kept comparing 
me with the ideal in their own minds, and thus I could not do 
other than fall short. The mathematician said that I had too 
much imagination, and too little reflection ; the pedant, that I 
had not sufficiently occupied myself with the Latin language. 
The politician always asked me, in the social circle, about the 
political news, in which I was not at home, and inquired only 
to show my want of knowledge. A young nobleman, who 
only lived for his horse, lamented over my small experience in 
horseflesh, and united with others in a Miserere over me, be^ 
cause I had more interest in myself than in his horse. A 
noble lady friend of the house, who on account of her rank 
and great self-sufficiency had gained the reputation of great 
wisdom and critical acumen, but who had actually very little 
of the sense she pretended to, requested that she might go 
through my poems, with reference to their beauty and struct- 
ure ; but she must have them copied out on loose papers. 
Habbas Dahdah considered me as a person whose talent had, 
at one time, promised great things ; but which had now died 
out. The first dancer in the city despised me, because I could 
not make a figure in the ball-room ; the grammarian, because 
I made use of a full stop where he placed a semicolon; and 
Francesca said, that I was quite spoiled^ because people made so 
much of me ; and for that reason she must be severe, and give 
me the benefit of her instruction. Every one cast his poison 
drop ujDon my heart : I felt that it must either bleed, or be- 
come callous. 

The beautiful and the noble in everything seized upon and 
attracted me. In tranquil moments I often thought on my 
educators, and it seemed to me that they existed in the whole 
of nature, and the life of the world for which my thoughts and 
my soul only existed as active artisans. The world even seemed 
to me a beautiful girl, whose form, mind, and dress, had at- 
tracted my whole attention ; but the shoemaker said, “ Look 
only at her shoes ; they are quite preferable ; they are the 
principal thing ! The dressmaker exclaimed, ‘‘ No, the 
dress ; see, what a cut ! that, above all, must occupy you ; go 
into the color, the hems, study the very principles of it ! ” 
‘‘No,” cries the hair-dresser, “you must analyze this plait: 


EDUCATION. 


255 

you must devote yourself to it ! ” “ The speech is of much 

more importance ! ’’ exclaims the language-master. “ No, the 
carriage ! says the dancing-master. ‘‘ Ah, good Heavens ! 

I sigh, it is the whole together which attracts me. I see 
only the beautiful in everything ; but I cannot become a 
dressmaker or a shoemaker just for your pleasure. My busi- 
ness is to exalt the beauty of the whole. Ye good men and 
women, do not, therefore, be angry and condemn me.’’ 

“It is too low for him ! ” “ It is not high enough for his 

poetical spirit ! ” said they all, deridingly. 

No beast is, however, so cruel as man ! Had I been rich 
and independent, the colors of everything would soon have 
changed. Every one of them were more prudent, more deeply 
grounded, and more rational than I. I learned to smile 
obligingly where I could have wept ; bowed to those whom I 
lightly esteemed, and listened attentively to the empty gossip 
of fools. Dissimulation, bitterness, and ennui^ were the fruit 
of the education which circumstances and men afforded me. 
People pointed always to my faults. Was there then nothing 
at all intellectual, no good points in me ? It was I myself who 
must seek for these, who must make these availing. People 
riveted my thoughts upon my own individual self, and then 
upbraided me for thinking too much of myself 

The politician called me an egotist because I would not oc- 
cupy myself solely and altogether with his calling. A young 
dilletante in Esthetics, a relation of the Borghese family, 
taught me what I ought to think, compose, and judge, and 
that always in one mode, that every stranger might see that it 
was the nobleman who taught the shepherd boy, the poor lad, 
who must be doubly grateful to him in that he condescended 
to instruct him. He who interested himself for the beautiful 
horse, and for that and that alone, said that I was the very 
vainest of men because I had no eye for his steed. But were 
not they all egotists ? Or had they right ? Perhaps ! I was 
a poor child for whom they had done a great deal. But, if my 
name had no nobility attached to it, my soul had, and inex- 
pressibly deeply did it feel every humiliation. 

I who, with my whole soul, had clung to mankind, was now 
changed, like Lot’s wife, into a pillar of salt. This gave rise 


THE IMPROVJSATORE. 


256 

to defiance in my soul. There were moments when my spir- 
itual consciousness raised itself up in its fetters, and became 
a devil of high-mindedness, which looked down upon the folly 
of my prudent teachers, and, full of vanity, whispered into my 
ear, ‘‘ Thy name will live and be remembered, when all theirs 
are forgotten, or are only remembered through thee, as being 
connected with thee, as the refuse and the bitter drops which 
fell into thy life’s cup ! ” 

At such moments I thought on Tasso, on the vain Leonora, 
the proud court of Ferrara, the nobility of which now is de- 
rived from the name of Tasso ; whose castle is in ruins, and 
the peer’s prison a place of pilgrimage. I myself felt with 
what vanity my heart throbbed ; but, in the manner in which 
I was brought up, it must be so, or else it must bleed. Gen- 
tleness and encouragement would have preserved my thoughts 
pure, my soul full of affection ; every friendly smile and word 
was a sunbeam, which melted one of the ice roots of vanity ; 
but there fell more poison drops than sunbeams. 

I was no longer so good as I had been formerly, and yet I 
was called an excellent, a remarkably excellent young man. 
My soul studied books, nature, the world, and myself, and yet 
they said. He will not learn anything. 

This education lasted for six years, nay seven, I might say, 
but that about the close of the sixth year there occurred a new 
movement in the waves of my life’s sea. In six long years 
there were certainly many circumstances which might have 
been communicated, many which were of more marked inter- 
est than those of which I have been speaking, but all melted 
themselves, however, into one single drop of poison as every 
man of talent, not possessed of either wealth or rank, knows 
as well as the pulsations of his own heart. 

I was an abbe, had a sort of name in Rome as improvisa- 
lore, because I had improvised and read poems aloud in the 
Academia Tiberina, and had always received the most decided 
applause ; but Francesca was right when she said that they 
clapped everything which anybody read there. Habbas Dad- 
dah stood as one of the first in the Academy — that is to say, 
he talked and wrote more than any one else ; all his fellow- 
professors said that he was too one-sided, ill-tempered, and 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 257 

unjust, and yet they endured him among them, and so he 
wrote and wrote on. 

He had gone, he said, through my water-color pieces, as he 
called my poems, but he could not now discover one trace of 
the talent which he had at one time, when in the school I 
bowed myself before his opinion, found in me ; it had been 
strangled in the birth, he said, and my friends ought to pre- 
vent any of my poems, which were only poetical misconcep- 
tions, from seeing the light. The misfortune was, he said, 
that great geniuses had written in their youthful years, and 
thus it had been with me. 

I never heard anything of Annunciata ; she was to me like 
one dead, who, in the moment of death, had laid her cold 
hand crushingly upon my heart, and thereby it had become 
more susceptible of every painful emotion. My residence in 
Naples, all the recollections of it, were as a beautiful, para- 
lyzing Medusa’s head. When the sirocco blew, I bethought 
myself of the mild breezes at Paestum, of Lara, and the bril- 
liant grotto in which I had seen her. When I stood like a 
schoolboy before my male and female educators, came to me 
recollections of the plaudits in the robbers’ cave, and in the 
great theatre of San Carlo. When I stood unobserved in a 
corner, I thought of Santa, who stretched forth her arms after 
me, and sighed, “ Kill me, but leave me not ! ” They were 
six long, instructive years ; I was now six-and-twenty years 
old. 

Flaminia, the young abbess, as they called her, the daughter 
of Francesca and Fabiani, who already had been consecrated 
in the cradle by the holy father as the bride of heaven, I had 
not seen since I had danced her upon my arm, and drawn for 
her merry pictures. She had been educated in a female con- 
vent in the Quattri Fontane, from which she never came. 
Fabiani had not seen her either for six long years ; Francesca 
only, as her mother, and as a lady, was permitted to visit her. 
She was, they said, grown quite a beautiful young woman, and 
the pious sisters had brought her mind to the same state of 
perfection. According to old custom, the young abbess was 
now to return home to her parents for some months, to enjoy 
all the pleasure of the world, and all its joy, before she said 
17 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


258 

forever farewell to it. She could even then, it was said, choose 
between the noisy world and the quiet convent ; but as, from 
the child’s play with the dolls dressed as nuns, so through her 
whole education in the convent, everything had been done wdth 
the design of riveting her soul and her thoughts to her des- 
tined life. 

Often when I went through the Quattri Fontane, where the 
convent was situated, I thought of the friendly child which I 
had danced upon my arm, and how changed she must be, and 
how quietly she lived behind the narrow wall. Once only had 
I been to the convent church, and had heard the nuns singing 
between the grating. Was the little abbess seated among 
them ? thought I, but ventured not to inquire whether the 
boarders also took part in the singing, and the church music. 
There was one voice which sounded so high and melancholy 
above the others, and which had a great resemblance to An- 
nunciata’s ; I seemed again to hear her, and all the remem- 
brances from that gone time seemed to awaken again in my 
soul. 

Next Monday our little abbess comes to us,” said Excel- 
lenza. I longed inexpressibly to see her. She seemed to me, 
like myself, to be like a captive bird, whom they let out of the 
cage with a string about its leg, that it might enjoy freedom 
in God’s nature. 

I saw her for the first time again at the dinner-table. She 
was, as they had told me, very much grown, somewhat pale, 
and, at the first moment, no one would have said that she was 
handsome ; but there was an expression of heart-felt good- 
ness in her countenance, a wonderful gentleness was diffused 
over it. 

There were at the table only a few of the nearest relations. 
Nobody told her who I was, and she appeared not to recog- 
nize me, but replied, wdth a kindness to which I was not 
accustomed, to every single word which I said. I felt that 
she made no difference between us, and drew me also into 
the conversation. She does not know me most assuredly, 
thought I. 

All the party w^as cheerful, told anecdotes and droll pas- 
sages in every-day life ; and the young abbess laughed. This 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 


259 

gave me courage, and I introduced several puns, which, just at 
that time, had produced great effect in many circles in the city. 
But no one laughed at them excepting the young abbess ; the 
others only faintly smiled, said that it was poor wit, and that 
it was not worth repeating. I assured them that, in almost 
every other place in Rome, people found a deal to laugh at in 
them. 

It is but a mere play upon words,’^ said Francesca. 
“ How can any one find pleasure in such superficial wit ? 
What mere nothings can occupy a human brain ! ’’ 

I occupied myself very little, in truth, with such things. 
But I had wished to contribute my part to the general enter- 
tainment, and that which I had related appeared to me very 
amusing, and exactly calculated for the purpose. I became 
silent and constrained. 

Many strangers were there in the evening, and I kept my- 
self prudently in the background. The great circle had gath- 
ered around the excellent Perini. He was of my age, but a 
nobleman, lively, and, in fact, very entertaining ; and was pos- 
sessed of all possible company talents. People knew that he 
was amusing and witty, and discovered that everything which 
he said was so. I stood somewhat behind, and heard how 
they were all laughing, especially Excellenza. I approached 
nearer. It was precisely that very same play of words which 
I to-day had so unfortunately brought forward for the first 
time that Perini now related. He neither took from it nor 
added to it, but gave the very same words with the very same 
mein that I had done, and they all laughed. 

It is most comic,” cried Excellenza, and clapped his 
hands. “ Most comic, is it not ? ” said he, to the young abbess, 
who stood by his side and laughed. 

‘‘ Yes ; so it seemed to me at dinner when Antonio told it 
to us ! ” returned she. There was nothing at all bitter in this 
remark of hers ; it was spoken with her customary gentleness. 
I could have fallen at her feet. 

‘‘O, it is superb ! ” said Francesca, to Perini’s pun. 

My heart beat violently. I withdrew to the window, behind 
the long curtains, and breathed the fresh air. 

I bring forward merely this one little trait. Every day, as 


26 o 


THE IMPROVHATORE. 


it went on, gave rise to similar ones. But the young abbess 
was an affectionate child, who looked into my face with gentle- 
ness and love, as if she would pray for forgiveness for the sins 
of the others. I was also very weak. I had vanity enough, 
but no pride. That was occasioned, certainly, by my low 
birth, by my early bringing up, by my dependence, and the 
unfortunate relationship of benefits received, in which I was 
placed to those around me. The thought was forever recur- 
ring to my mind how much I was indebted to my circum- 
stances, and that thought bound my tongue to the resolves of 
my pride. It was assuredly noble ; but, at the same time, it 
was weakness. 

Had I stood in an entirely independent position, things 
could not have come to the state in which they were. Every 
one acknowledged my sense of duty and my firm conscien- 
tiousness ; and yet, they said, a genius is not capable of grave 
business. Those who were the most polite to me said, that I 
was possessed of too much spirituality for it. If they meant 
what they said, how ill they judged of a man of mind ! I 
might have perished of hunger, it was said, had it not been 
for Excellenza j how much gratitude, therefore, did I not owe 
him ? 

About this time I had just finished a great poem — Da- 
vid,” — into which I had breathed my whole soul. Day after 
day, through the last year, spite of the eternal educating, the 
recollections of my flight to Naples, my adventures there, and 
the severing of my first strong love, had given my whole be- 
ing a more determined poetical bent. There were moments 
which stood before me as a whole life, a true poem, in which 
I myself had acted a part. Nothing appeared to me without 
significance, or of every-day occurrence. My sufferings even, 
and the injustice which was done to me, was poetry. My 
heart felt a necessity to pour itself forth, and in ‘‘ David ” I 
found material which answered to my requiring. I felt liv- 
ingly the excellence of what I had written, and my soul was 
gratitude and love ; for it is the truth, that I never either sang 
or composed a strophe which appeared to me good, without 
turning myself with child-like thanks to the eternal God, from 
whom I felt that it was a gift, a grace which he had infused 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 


261 


into my soul ! My poem made me happy ; and I heard with 
a pious mind everything which seemed to be said unreason- 
ably against me ; for I thought, when they hear this, they will 
feel what an injustice they have done me ; their hearts will 
warm towards me with twofold love ! 

My poem was compleied ; no human eye excepting my own 
had yet seen it. It seemed to stand before me like a Vatican 
Apollo, an unpolluted image of beauty known only to God 
himself. I gladdened myself with the thought of the day 
when I should read it in the Academia Tiberina. I resolved 
that nobody in the house should in the mean time know of it. 
One day, however, one of the first after the young abbess was 
come home, Francesca and Fabiani were so gentle and kind 
to me, that I felt as if I could have no secrets with them. I 
told them, therefore, of my poem, and they said, “ But we 
ought first of all to hear it.’’ 

I was willing that they should, although not without a kind 
of throbbing of heart, an extraordinary anxiety. In the even- 
ing, just as I was about to read it, who should make his ap- 
pearance but Habbas Dahdah. 

Francesca besought him to remain, and to honor my poem 
by hearing it read. Nothing could have been more repug- 
nant to me. I knew his bitterness, ill-humor and bad blood ; 
nor were the others particularly prepossessed in my favor. 
Nevertheless, the consciousness of the excellence of my work 
gave me a sort of courage. The young abbess looked happy ; 
she delighted herself with the thoughts of hearing my “ Da- 
vid.” When I first stepped forward in San Carlo, my heart 
did not beat more violently than now, as I sat before these 
people. This poem, I thought, must entirely change their 
judgment of me — their mode of treating me. It was a sort 
of spiritual operation by which I desired to influence them, 
and therefore I trembled. 

A natural feeling within me had led me only to describe 
that which I knew. David’s shepherd life, with which my 
poem opened, was borrowed from my childhood’s recollections 
in the hut of Domenica. 

^‘But that is actually yourself,” cried Francesca , “yourself 
out in the Campagna.” 


262 


THE IMPROVISATCRE. 


Yes ; that one can very well see/’ said Excellenza. “ lie 
must bring himself in. That is really a peculiar genius that 
the man has ! In every possible thing he knows how to bring 
forward himself.” 

‘‘ The versification ought to be a little smoother,” said Hab- 
bas Dahdah. “ I advise the Horatian rule, ‘ Let it only lie by 
■ — lie by till it comes to maturity ! ’ ” 

It was as if they had all of them broken off an arm from 
my beautiful statue. I, however, read yet a few more stanzas, 
but only cold, slight observations met my ear. Whenever my 
heart had expressed naturally its own emotions, they said I 
had borrowed from another poet. Whenever my soul had 
been full of warm inspiration, and I had expected attention 
and rapture, they seemed indifferent, and made only cold and 
every-day remarks. I broke off at the conclusion of the sec- 
ond canto j it was impossible for me to read any more. My 
poem, which had seemed to me so beautiful and so spiritual, 
now lay like a deformed puppet with glass eyes and twisted 
features ; it was as if they had breathed poison over my image 
of beauty. 

‘‘ But David does not kill the Philistines ! ” said Habbas 
Dahdah. With this exception, they said that there were some 
very pretty things in the poem ; that which related to child- 
hood and to sentiment I could express very nicely. 

I stood silent, and bowed, like a criminal, for a gracious 
sentence. 

‘‘ The Horatian rule,” whispered Habbas Dahdah, pressing 
my hand very kindly and calling me poet.” Some min- 
utes, however, afterwards, when I had withdrawn, greatly de- 
pressed into a corner, I heard him say to Fabiani that my 
work was nothing at all but desperate bunglingly put together 
stuff! 

They had mistaken both it and me, but my soul could not 
bear it. I went out into the great saloon adjoining where a 
fire was burning on the hearth ; I convulsively crumpled to- 
gether my poem in my hand. All my hopes, all my dreams, 
were in a moment destroyed. I felt myself so infinitely small j 
an unsuccessful impression of Him in whose image I was 
made. 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 


263 

That which I had loved, and had pressed to my lips, into 
which I had breathed my soul, my living thoughts, I cast 
from me into the fire ; I saw my poem kindle up into red 
flame. 

“Antonio ! ” cried the young abbess close behind me, and 
snatched into the fire after the burning leaves. Her foot 
slipped in her quick movement, and she fell forward on the 
fire. It was a fearful sight ; she uttered a shriek ; I sprang for- 
ward to her and caught her up ; the poem was all in a blaze, 
and the others came rushing into the room. 

“Jesus, Maria ! ’’ exclaimed Francesca. 

The young abbess lay pale as death in my arms ; she raised 
her head, smiled, and said to her mother, — 

“ My foot slipped ; I have only burned my hand a little ; if 
it had not been for Antonio, it would have been a great deal 
worse ! ” 

I stood like a sinner, and could not say one word. She had 
severely burnt her left hand, and a great excitement was occa- 
sioned by it in the house. They had not noticed that I had 
thrown my poem into the fire. I expected that they would 
afterwards inquire about it, but, as I did not speak of this, 
neither was it spoken of by any one — by no one at all? 
Yes, by one — by Flaminia, the young abbess ! 

In her I saw the good angel of the house ; through her 
gentleness, her sisterly disposition, after some time, my whole 
childlike confidence returned ; I was as if bound to her. 

It was more than fourteen days before her hand was healed. 
The wound burned, but it burned also in my heart. 

“ Flaminia, I am guilty of the whole ! ’’ said I one day as I 
sat alone with her ; “ for my sake you have suffered this 
pain.” 

“ Antonio,” said she, “ for Heaven’s sake be silent ! Let 
no creature hear a word of this ; you do yourself an injustice : 
my foot slipped, it might have been much more unfortunate 
had not you been there. I owe thanks to you for it, and that 
my father and mother feel also ; they are much attached to 
you, Antonio, more so than you think.” 

“ I owe everything to them,” I said ; “ every day lays me 
under a fresh obligation.” 


THE mPROVISATORE. 


264 

“ Do not speak of that,” said she, with indescribable sweet- 
ness ; they have their own mode of behaving to you, but 
they only think that it is the best. You do not know how 
much good my mother has told me about you ! We have all 
of us our faults, Antonio, even you yourself ” — she paused. 

Yes,” continued she, ‘‘how could you be so angry as to burn 
that beautiful poem ? ” 

“ It was not worth anything better,” said I. “ I ought long 
before to have thrown it into the flames.” 

Flaminia shook her head. “ It is a bad, wicked world ! ” 
said she : “ yes, it was very much better there among the sis- 
ters, in the quiet, friendly convent.” 

“Yes,” exclaimed I ; “innocent and good like you am I 
not ; my heart has in its remembrance rather the bitter drops 
than the refreshing draughts of benefits which have been ex- 
tended to me.” 

“ In my beloved convent it was much better than it is here, 
though you all love me so much,” she often would say when 
we were together alone. My whole soul was attached towards 
her j for I felt that she was the good angel of my better feel- 
ings and my innocence. I seemed also to perceive in others 
a greater delicacy towards me, a greater gentleness in word 
and in looks ; and I fancied that this was the effect of Fla- 
minia’s influence. 

She seemed to have such great pleasure in talking to me 
about the things which occupied me most, — poetry, the glori- 
ous, Godlike poetry. I told her a great deal about the great 
masters, and often inspiration ascended into my soul, and my 
lips became eloquent, as she sat there before me with folded 
hands, and looked into my face like the angel of Innocence. 

“ And yet, how happy you are, Antonio ! ” said she, “ more 
happy than thousands ! And, nevertheless, it seems to me 
that it must be an anxious thing to belong to the world in the 
same degree as you, and every poet must ! How very much 
good cannot one word of yours produce, and yet how much 
evil likewise ! ” 

She expressed her astonishment that poets forever sung 
of human struggles and troubles ; to her it seemed that the 
prophet of God, as the poet is, should only sing of the 
eternal God and of the joy of heaven. 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 


265 

But the poet sings of God in His creatures ! ’’ replied I ; 
‘‘he glorifies Him in that which He has created for His 
glory/’ 

“ I do not understand it,” said Flaminia. “ I feel clearly, 
however, that which I mean to say, but I have not the words 
for it. Of the eternal God, of the divinity in His world and 
in our own hearts, the poet ought to speak, ought to lead us 
to his heart, and not into the wild world.” 

She then inquired from me how it was to be a poet ; how 
one felt when one improvised ; and I explained to her this 
state of spiritual operation as well as I could. 

“ The thoughts, the ideas,” said she ; “ yes, I understand 
very well that they are born in the soul, that they come from 
God ; we all know that : but the beautiful metre, the mode in 
which this consciousness expresses itself, that I understand 
not.” 

“ Have you not,” I inquired, “ often in the convent learned 
one or another beautiful psalm or legend which is made in 
verse ? And then often, when you are least thinking about it, 
some circumstance or another has called up an idea within 
your mind, by which the recollection is awoke of this or that, 
so that you could, then and there, have written them down on 
paper ; verses, rhymes, even have led you to remember the 
succeeding, whilst the thought, the subject, stood clearly be- 
fore you ? Thus is it with the improvisatore and poet — with 
me at least ! At times it seems to me these are reminiscences, 
cradle songs from another world, which awake in my soul, and 
which I am compelled to repeat.” 

“ How often have I felt the same kind of thing ! ” said 
Flaminia, “ but never was able to express it, — that strange 
longing, which often took hold upon me, without my knowing 
wherefore ! To me it seemed, therefore, so often, that I was 
not at home here in this wild world. The whole seemed to 
me a great and strange dream ; and this was the reason why 
I longed so again for my convent — for my little cell ! I know 
not how it is, Antonio, but there I used so often to see in my 
dreams my bridegroom Jesus and the Holy Virgin ; now they 
present themselves more seldom : I dream now so much about 
worldly pomp and joy, about so much that is wicked. I an} 


266 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


certainly no longer so good as I was among the sisters ! Why 
should I have been kept from them so long ? Do you know, 
Antonio ; I will confess to you, I am no longer innocent, I 
would too gladly adorn my person ; and it gives me so much 
pleasure when they say that I am lovely ! In the convent they 
told me that it was only the children of sin who thought in 
this way.” 

“ O that my thoughts were as innocent as yours ! ” said I, 
bowing myself before her, and kissing her hand. 

She then told me that she remembered how I had danced 
her on my arm when she was little, and had drawn pictures 
for her. 

“ And which you tore in pieces after you had looked at 

them, ” said I. 

That was hateful of me,” said she ; “ but you are not 
angry with me for it ? ” 

I have seen my heart’s best pictures torn in pieces since 

then, ” said I ; and yet I was not angry with those who 
did it.” 

She stroked me affectionately on the cheek. 

More and more dear did she become to my heart, that, in- 
deed, had been repulsed by all the world ; she alone was af- 
fectionate and sympathizing. 

In the two warmest summer months the family removed to 
Tivoli ; I accompanied them, for which I certainly had to 
thank Flaminia. The glorious scenery there, the rich olive 
groves, and the foaming waterfall, seized upon my soul as the 
sea had seized upon it, when I had seen it for the first time at 
Terracina. I felt myself so exhilarated to leave Rome, the 
yellow Campagna around it, and the oppressive heat. The 
first breath from the mountains, wnth their dark olive groves, 
brought again life’s pictures from Naples back to my soul. 

Frequently, and with great delight, Flaminia rode, with her 
maid, upon asses, through the mountain valley of Tivoli ; and 
I was permitted to attend them. Flaminia had much taste for 
the picturesque beauty of nature, and I therefore attempted to 
make sketches of the rich neighborhood ; the boundless Cam- 
pagna, when the cupola of St. Peter’s raised itself upon the 
horizon ; the fertile sides of the mountains, with their thick 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 


267 

olive groves and vineyards ; even Tivoli itself, which lay aloft 
on the cliffs, below which waterfall upon waterfall fell foaming 
into the abyss. 

It looks,’’ said Flaminia “ as if the whole city stood upon 
loose pieces of rock, which the water would soon tear down. 
Up above those, in the street, one never dreams about it, but 
goes with a light step above an open grave ! ” 

“ So, indeed, do we always ! ” replied I ; “it is w^ell and 
happy for us, that it is concealed from our eyes. The foam- 
ing waterfalls, which we see hurled down here, have in them 
something disturbing, but how much more terrible must it be 
in Naples, where fire is thrown up like water here ! ” 

I then told her about Vesuvius, of my ascent to it ; told her 
about Herculaneum and Pompeii, and she drank in every 
word of my lips. When we were at home again, she begged 
me to tell her more about all the glorious things on the other 
side of the Marshes. 

The sea she could not rightly understand, for she had only 
seen it from the top of the mountains, like a silver ribbon on 
the horizon. I told her that it was, like God’s heaven, spread 
out upon the earth, and she folded her hands, and said, “ God 
has made the world infinitely beautiful ! ” 

“ Therefore man ought not to turn himself away from the 
glory of His works, and immure himself in a dark convent ! ” 
I would have said, but I dared not. 

One day we stood beside the old sibyl’s temple, and looked 
down upon the two great waterfalls, which, like clouds, were 
hurled into the chasm, whilst a column of spray mounted up- 
ward among the green trees, towards the blue air ; the sun- 
beams fell upon the column, and caused a rainbow. Within 
the cavern in the cliff, above the lesser waterfall, a flock of 
doves had established themselves ; they flew in wide circles 
below us, and above the great mass of water, which is shivered 
in its fall. 

“How glorious!” exclaimed Flaminia. “ Now improvise 
for me also, Antonio I ” said she ; “ now^ sing to me a poem 
about what you see 1 ” 

I thought upon my heart’s dream, which had all been shiv- 
ered like the water-stream here, and I obeyed her, and sang. 


268 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


Sang how life burst forth like the stream, but yet every drop 
of it did not drink in the sunbeam ; it was only over the whole, 
over a whole human race, that the glory of beauty diffused 
Itself 

“ No ! anything sorrowful I will not hear ! said Flaminia ; 
you shall not sing me anything if you do not like to do it. 
I do not know how it is, Antonio, but I do not consider you 
like the other gentlernen whom I know ! I can say anything 
to you ! You seem to me almost like my father and my 
mother ! ” 

I possessed also her confidence as she did mine : there was 
so much which agitated my soul, that I longed for sympathy. 
One evening I related to her much of my childhood’s life, of 
my ramble in the catacombs, of the flower-feast in Genzano, 
and of my mother’s death, when the horses of Excellenza 
went over us. Of that she had never heard. 

“ O Madonna ! ” said she, “ thus are we guilty of your mis- 
fortune ! Poor Antonio ! ” She took my hand, and looked 
sorrowfully into my face. She was greatly interested in old 
Domenica ; inquired whether I frequently visited her, and I 
took shame to myself to confess, that during the last year I 
had only been twice out there ; although in Rome I had seen 
her more frequently, and had always divided my little wealth 
with her, but that was indeed nothing to speak of 

She besought of me always to tell her more, and so, when I 
had related to her all about my life in childhood, I told her of 
Bernardo and Annunciata, and she looked with an inexpressi- 
bly pious expression into my very soul. The nearness of in- 
nocence directed my words. I told her about Naples, touch- 
ing lightly, very lightly upon the shadowy side, and yet she 
shuddered at what I told, shuddered before Santa, the serpent 
of beauty in my Paradise. 

“No, no!” exclaimed she, “thither will I never go! No 
sea, no burning mountain, can cleanse away all the sin and 
abomination of the great city ! You are good and pious, and 
therefore did the Madonna protect you ! ” 

I thought of the image of the Mother of God, which had 
fallen down from the wall when my lips met Santa’s ; but this 
I could not tell to Flaminia; would she then have called me 


THE YOUNG ABBESS, 


269 

good and pious? I was a sinner like the others. Circum- 
stances, the mercy of the Mother of God, had watched over 
me. In the moment of temptation I was as weak as any 
of those whom I knew. 

Lara was inexpressibly dear to her. Yes,’’ said she, 
‘‘ when your soul was in God’s heaven, could she only come to 
you ! I can very well fancy her, fancy the blue, beaming 
grotto, where you saw her for the last time ! ” 

Annunciata did not rightly please her. “ How could she 
love the hateful Bernardo ? I would rather not that she had 
been your wife. A woman who thus can come forward before 
a whole public ; a woman — yes, I cannot properly make that 
intelligible which I mean ! I feel, however, how beautiful she 
was, how wise, how many advantages she possessed above 
other women, but it does not seem to me that she was worthy 
of you. Lara was a better guardian angel for you ! ” 

I must now tell her of my improvisation ; and to her it 
seemed that it would be much more terrible in the great thea- 
tre, than before the robbers in the mountain cave. I showed 
her the ‘‘ Diario Napoli,” in which was the critique on my first 
appearance ; how often had I read it since then ! 

It amused her to see everything which that paper from the 
foreign city contained. All at once she looked up and ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ But you never told me, however, that Annunciata 
was in Naples at the same time you were there. Here it is 
.stated that she will make her appearance on the morrow, that 
is, on the day upon which you set out ! ” 

“ Annunciata ! ” stammered I, and stared at the paper, into 
which I had so often looked before, and yet, truly enough, 
had never read anything but what had reference to myself. 

‘‘ That I never saw ! ” exclaimed I ; and we looked silently 
at each other. ‘‘ God be praised that I did not meet her, did 
not see her — she was indeed not mine 1 ” 

“ But if it were to happen now,” asked Flaminia, ‘‘ would it 
not please you ? ” 

It would be painful to me ! ” exclaimed I, “ great suffer 
ing. The Annunciata who captivated me, who still exists 
idolized in my memory, I. shall never again find j she would 
be to me a new creature, who would painfully excite a remem- 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


270 

brance which I must forget, must regard as the property of 
death ! She stands among my dead ! ” 

On one warm Wednesday, I entered the large general sit* 
ting-room, where the thick green twining plants overshadowed 
the window. Flaminia sat, supporting her head upon her 
hand, in a light slumber ; it seemed as if she was keeping her 
eyes closed only for sport. Her breast heaved ; she dreamed. 
‘‘ Lara ! said she. In dreams she certainly floated with my 
heart’s dream-image, in that splendid world where I had last 
seen her. A smile parted her lips ; she opened her eyes. 

Antonio ! ” said she, ‘‘ I have been asleep, and have 
dreamed. Do you know of whom ? ” 

“ Lara ! ” said I ; for I too could not but think of her when 
I saw Flaminia with closed eyes. 

“ I dreamt about her ! ” said she. “ We both of us flew 
far over the great, beautiful sea, which you have told me 
about. Amid the water there lay a rock, on which you sat, 
looking very much dejected, as you often do. She then said 
that we would fly down to you, and she sank through the air 
down to you. I too wished to go with her, but the air kept me 
far aloft, and with every stroke of my wings which I made to 
follow her, I seemed to fly further away. But when I fancied 
that there lay thousands of miles between us, she was at my 
side, and you also ! ” 

“ Thus will death assemble us ! ” said I. “ Death is rich ; 
he possesses everything which has been dearest to our 
hearts ! ” 

I spoke with her about my beloved dead, the dead even of 
my thoughts, of my affections, and we often turned back to 
these reminiscences. 

She then asked me if I would also think of her when we 
were separated. Very soon she should be really again in the 
convent, a nun, the bride of Christ, and we should never see 
each other more. 

Deep suffering penetrated my soul at this thought ; I felt 
right livingly how dear Flaminia had become to me. 

One day, when she, and her mother, and I, were walking in 
the garden of the Villa d’Este, where the tall cypresses grow, 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 


271 

we went up the long alley which runs up to the artificial 
fountain. Here lay a ragged beggar pulling up the grass 
from the walk, and, as soon as he saw us, he prayed for a 
bajocco. I gave him a paolo, and Flaminia smiled kindly, 
and gave him another. 

Madonna reward the young Excellenza and his handsome 
bride ! ’’ cried he after us. 

Francesca laughed aloud ; it ran like burning fire through 
my blood ; I had not courage to look at Flaminia. In my 
soul a thought had awoke, which I had never dared to unveil 
before to myself. Slowly, but firmly, had Flaminia grown into 
my heart ; it must bleed, I felt, when we parted from each 
other. She was the only one to whom my soul now clung ; 
the only one who affectionately met my thoughts and feelings. 
Was it love ^ Did I love her ? The feeling which Annun- 
ciata had awoke in my soul was very different ; even the sight 
of Lara, the remembrance of her, had something much more 
allied to this feeling. Intellect and beauty had captivated me 
in Annunciata ; ideal beauty mingled itself with the first view 
of Lara, which made my heart swell. No, this was not my 
love for Flaminia. It was not the wild, burning passion ; it 
was friendship ; a brother’s most living love. I felt the con- 
nection in which I stood to her, with regard to her family and 
her destination, and was in despair at the thought of separa- 
tion from her ; she was to me my all — my dearest in this 
world ; but I had no wish to press her to my heart, to breathe 
a kiss upon her lips, as had been my whole thoughts with re- 
gard to Annunciata, and which, as an invisible power, had 
driven me towards the blind girl ; no, this was to me quite 
foreign. 

“ The young Excellenza and his handsome bride ! ” as the 
beggar had cried, resounded continually in my soul. I sought 
to read every wish on Flaminia’s lips, and hung about her like 
her shadow. When others were present, I became constrained 
and dejected. I felt the thousand bonds which pressed heav- 
ily upon me ; I became silent and absent : for her alone was 1 
eloquent. She was so dear to me, and I must lose her. 

“ Antonio ! ” said she, you are unw’ell, or something has 
happened which I may not know ? Why not ? may I not ? ” 


THE IMPROVTSATORE, 


272 

»Vith her whole soul she depended on me, and I desired to 
be to her a dear, faithful brother ; and yet my conversation 
perpetually tended to lead her out into the world. I told her 
how I myself had once wished to be a monk, and how unhappy 
I should have been if I had become so, because sooner or 
later the heart asserts its right. 

I,” said she, shall feel myself happy, very happy, to re- 
turn again to my pious sisters — among them I am only 
rightly at home. Then I shall very often think upon the time 
when I was out in the w^orld, shall think of everything of 
which you have told me. It will be a beautiful dream ; I feel 
it so already. I shall pray for you, pray that the wicked 
world may never corrupt you ; that, you may become very 
happy, and that the world may rejoice in your song, and that 
you may feel how good the dear God is to you and to us alto- 
gether.’^ 

Tears streamed from my eyes ; I sighed deeply, ‘‘ We shall 
then never see each other more ! ” 

“Yes, with God and the Madonna!” said she, and smiled 
piously. “ There you shall show me Lara ! there also shall 
she receive the sight of her eyes. O yes, with the Madonna 
it is the best 1 ” 

We removed again to Rome. In a few weeks, I heard it 
said that Flaminia was to return to the convent, and shortly 
after that to take the veil. My heart was rent with pain, and 
yet I was obliged to conceal it. How forlorn and desolate 
should I not be when she had left us ! how like a stranger and 
alone should I not stand ! what grief of heart I should expe- 
rience I I endeavored to hide it — to be cheerful — to be 
quite different to what I was. 

They spoke of the pomp of her investiture as if it had been 
a feast of gladness. But could she, however, go away from 
us ? They had befooled her mind, they had befooled her un- 
derstanding. Her beautiful long hair was to be cut away 
from her head ; the living was to be clothed in a shroud ; 
she would hear the funeral bells ring, and only as the dead 
rise up the bride of heaven. I said this to Flaminia : with 
an anguish as of death besought of her to think about what 
she was doing, of thus going down alive to the grave. 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 


273 

‘‘ Let nobody hear what you are saying, Antonio ! ’’ said she, 
with a solemnity which I had never seen in her before. ‘‘ The 
world has all too firm a hold upon you ; look more to that 
which is heavenly.” 

She became crimson, seized my hand, as if she had spoken 
to me with too much severity, and said, with the most heart- 
felt gentleness, “ You will not distress me, Antonio } ” 

I then sank down before her feet ; she stood like a saint be- 
fore me j my whole soul clung to her. How many tears did I 
shed that night ! my strong feeling for her seemed to me a 
sin : she was really the bride of the Church. I daily saw her, 
daily learned to value her more highly. She talked to me 
like a sister, looked into my face, offered me her hand, said 
that her soul was filled with desires for me, and that I was 
dear to her. I convulsively concealed the night of death 
which lay in my soul, and it made me happy that it was known 
to no one. God send death to a heart which suffers as mine 
suffered ! 

The moment of separation stood horribly before me, and a 
wicked spirit whispered into my ear, “ Thou lovest her ! ” and 
I really did not love her as I had loved Annunciata ; my heart 
trembled not as it had done when my lips touched Lara’s fore- 
head. Say to Flaminia, that thou canst not live without her ; 
she also is attached to thee as a sister to a brother. Say that 
thou lovest her ! Excellenza and the whole family will con- 
demn thee, turn thee out into the world : but then in losing her 
thou losest everything. The choice is easy ! ” 

How often did this confession arise to my lips, but my heart 
trembled, and I was silent ; it was a fever, a fever of death, 
which agitated my blood, my thoughts ! 

All was in a state of preparation within the palace for a 
splendid ball, a flower-festival for the sacrificial tomb. I saw 
her in the rich, magnificent dress ; she was unspeakably lovely. 

Now be gay like the others ! ” she whispered to me ; “it 
distresses me to see you so dejected. Often shall I certainly, 
for your sake, when I am sitting in my convent, send my 
thoughts back to the world, and that is sin, Antonio. Promise 
me that you will become more cheerful — promise me that 
you will forgive my father and mother when they are a little 
18 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


274 

severe towards you. They mean it for your good. Promise 
me that you will not think so much on the bitterness of the 
world, and will be always good and pious as you now are j 
then I may dare still to think of you, still to pray for you, and 
Madonna is good and merciful.” 

Her words penetrated my heart. I see her yet as she was 
that last evening before she left us — she was so merry. She 
kissed her father and the old Excellenza, and spoke of the 
separation as if it were only for a few days. 

‘‘ Now say farewell to Antonio,” said Fabiani, who was 
much affected, while the others appeared not to be so. I 
hastily hurried up to her, and bowed to kiss her hand. 

“ Antonio ! ” said she (her voice was so low, tears streamed 
from my eyes), ‘‘ mayst thou be happy ! ” 

I knew not how to tear myself away ; for the last time I 
looked into her pious, gentle countenance. 

‘‘Farewell! ” said she, scarcely audible. She bent towards 
me, and, impressing a kiss upon my forehead, said, “ Thanks 
for thy affection, my dear brother 1 ” 

More I know not I I rushed out of the hall and into my 
own chamber, where I could weep freely; it was as if the 
world sank away from under my feet. 

And I saw her yet once more 1 When the time was accom- 
plished I saw her. The sun shone so warm and cheerfully. I 
saw Flaminia in all her rich pomp and magnificence, as she 
was led up to the altar by her father and her mother. I heard 
plainly the singing, and perceived that many people were 
kneeling all around, but there stood distinctly before me only 
the pale, mild countenance — an angel it was — which kneeled 
with the priests before the high altar. 

I saw how they took the costly veil from her head, and the 
abundant hair fell down upon her shoulders ; I heard the 
shears divide it : they stripped her of her rich clothing ; she 
stretched herself upon the bier ; the pall and the black cloth, 
upon which are painted death’s-heads, were thrown over her. 
The church bells tolled for the burial procession, and the song 
for the dead was intoned. Yes, dead was she — buried to this 
world. 

The black grate, before the entrance to the interior of the 


THE YOUNG ABBESS. 275 

convent, was raised, the sisters stood in their white linen vest- 
ments, and sang the angel’s welcome to their new sister. The 
bishop extended to her his hand, and the bride of heaven 
arose. Elizabeth she was now called. I saw the last glance 
which she directed to the assembly ; after this she gave her 
hand to the nearest sister, and entered into the grave of life. 

The black grating fell ! I still saw the outline of her 
fififure — the last wave of her garment — and she was gone J 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


OLD DOMENICA. — THE DISCOVERY. THE EVENING IN NEJt-j:* 

THE boatman’s SONG. VENICE. 

C ONGRATULATIONS were now offeied in the Bor- 
gliese Palace. Flaminia-Elizabeth was really the bride 
of heaven. Francesca’s seriousness was not concealed by her 
artificial smile ; the tranquillity which lay on her countenance 
was banished from her heart. 

Fabiani, most deeply affected, said to me, ‘‘You have lost 
your best benefactress ! You have reason for being very much 
depressed ! She desired me to give you some scudi,” con- 
tinued he, “ for old Domenica ; you have certainly spoken to 
her about your old foster-mother. Take her these, they are 
Flaminia’s gift.” 

The dead lay like a snake around my heart ; my thoughts 
were life’s weariness ; I trembled before them ; before them 
self-murder seemed to lose its terrors. 

“ Out into the free air ! ” thought I ; “to the home of my 
childhood, where Domenica sang cradle-songs to me ; where I 
played and dreamed.” 

Yellow and scorched lay the Campagna ; not a green blade 
spoke of the hope of life ; the yellow Tiber rolled its waves 
towards the sea in order to vanish there. I saw again the 
old burial-place, with the thick ivy over the roof, and depend- 
ing from the walls, — the little world which, as a child, I had 
called my own. The door stood open ; a pleasant melan- 
choly feeling filled my heart ; I thought of Domenica’s affec- 
tion and her joy at seeing me. It certainly was a year since 
I had last been out there, and eight months since I had spoken 
with her in Rome, and she had prayed me to go very often to 
see her. I had very often thought about her, had talked of 
her to Flaminia ; but our summer residence in Tivoli and my 


OLD DOMENICA, 277 

fxcited state of mind since our return had prevented my going 
out to the Campagna. 

I heard, in thought, her scream of joy as she saw me, and 
hastened my steps ; but, when I came pretty near the door, 
walked very softly to prevent her hearing me. I looked into 
the room \ in the middle stood a great iron pan over a fire, 
some reeds were laid upon it, and a young fellow blew them ; 
he turned his head and saw me ; it was Pietro, the little child 
which I had nursed here. 

“Saint Joseph!’^ exclaimed he, and sprung up overjoyed, 
“ is it your Excellency ? It is a long, long time since you 
were so gracious as to come here ! 

I extended to him my hand, which he would kiss. 

“Nay, nay, Pietro ! ” said I ; “it almost seems as if I had 
forgotten my old friends, but I have not.” 

“ No, the good old mother said so too,” cried he. “ O, Ma- 
donna ! how glad she would have been to see you ! ” 

“ Where is Domenica ? ” inquired I. 

“ Ah ! ” returned he, “ it is now half a year since she was 
laid under the earth. She died whilst Excellenza was in 
Tivoli ! She was only ill for a few days, but through all that 
time she talked about her dear Antonio. Yes, Excellenza, do 
not be angry that I call you by that name, but she was so very 
fond of you. ‘ Would that my eyes could see him before they 
are closed ! ’ said she, and longed so very much for it. And 
when I saw very well that she could not last the night over, I 
went in the afternoon to Rome ; I knew very well that you 
would not be angry at my request. I would have prayed of 
you to have accompanied me to the old mother, but when I 
got there you and the gentlefolks were all gone to Tivoli ; so I 
came home full of trouble ; but when I came to the house she 
was already gone to sleep.” 

He held his hands before his face and wept. 

Every word which he had said fell heavily upon my heart. 
I had been her dying thought, and, at the same time, my 
thoughts had been far away from her. Would that I had only 
said farewell to her before I set off for Tivoli ! I was not a 
good man ! 

I gave the money to Pietro from Flaminia, and all that I 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


278 

had also. He sank down upon his knees before me, and 
called me his guardian angel. It sounded like a jest in my 
heart. With a twofold sense of suffering, cut, as it were, to 
the very heart, I left the Campagna. I know not how I reached 
home. 

For three long days I lay without consciousness in a violent 
fever. God knows what, during this time I said ; but Fabiani 
frequently came to me \ he had appointed the deaf Fenella 
to be my nurse. No one named Flaminia to me. I had re- 
turned home ill from the Campagna, and had laid myself im- 
mediately on my bed, when the fever took hold upon me. 

I recovered my strength, but very slowly j in vain I endeav- 
ored to compel myself to humor and cheerfulness ; I was 
possessed of neither. 

It was about six weeks after the time when Flaminia took 
the veil, that the physician permitted me to go out. Almost 
without knowing whither I directed my steps, I went to the 
Porta Pia ; my eye gazed down upon the Quattri Fontane, but 
I had not courage enough to pass the convent. Some evenings, 
however, after this, when the new moon shone in the heavens, 
the emotions of my heart drew me thither ; I saw the gray 
convent walls, the grated windows, Flaminia’s closed grave. 
“ Wherefore dared I not to see the burial-place of the dead ? ” 
said I to myself, and felt within me a resolution to do so. 

Every evening I took my way past there. I was very fond 
of walking to the Villa Albani,’’ said I to those of my acquaint- 
ance whom I met by chance. God knows what will be the 
end of it ! ” sighed my heart ; ‘‘ I cannot endure it long ! I 
was then just at the gaol. 

It was a dark evening ; a ray of light streamed down the 
wall of the convent ; I leaned against the corner of a house, 
fixed my eyes upon this bright point, and thought on Flaminia. 

Antonio ! ” said a voice close behind me ; Antonio, what 
are you doing here ? 

It was Fabiani. “ Follow me home ! said he. 

I accompanied him ; we spoke not a word by the way ; he 
knew it all as well as I myself did ; I felt that he did so. I 
was an ingrate ; I had not courage to look at him. Presently, 
and we were alone in my chamber. 


THE DISCOVERY. 


279 

‘‘You are yet ill, Antonio,’’ said he, with an unusual solem- 
nity in his voice. “You need occupation, change of scene. 
It will do you good to mix more in the world. There was a 
time when you spread out your wings for freedom ; perhaps it 
was unjust in me that I decoyed the bird back to his cage. I. 
is a great deal better for human beings to have their will ; then 
if misfortunes befall them they have only themselves to blame. 
You are quite old enough to direct your own steps. A little 
journey will be beneficial to you ; the physician is of the same 
opinion also. You have already seen Naples; visit now the 
north of Italy. I shall provide the means for it. It is the 
best thing for you, necessary, and,” added he, with a serious- 
ness, a severity, which I had never known in him before, “ I 
am convinced that you will never forget the benefits which we 
have conferred upon you. Never occasion us mortification, 
shame, and sorrow, which indiscretion or blind passion might 
do. A man can do anything, whatever he will, if he be only 
a good man.” 

His words struck me to the earth like a flash of lightning ; 
I bent my knee, and pressed his hand to my lips. 

“I know very well,” said he, half-jestingly, “that we may 
have done you injustice ; that we have been unreasonable and 
severe. No persons, however, will intend more uprightly and 
more kindly tow^ards you than we have done. You will hear 
more flattering modes of speech, more loving words, but not 
more true integrity than we have shown you. For a year you 
shall move about. Let us then see what is your state of mind, 
and whether we have done you an injustice.” 

With these words he left me. 

Had the world still new suffering for me — still fresh poison 
drops ? Even the only draught of consolation, freedom to fly 
about in God’s world, fell like gall into my deep wound. Far 
from Rome, far from the south, where lay all the flowers of 
my remembrance, over the Apennines, toward the north, where 
there actually lay snow upon the lofty mountains ! Cold blown 
from the Alps into my warm blood ? Toward the north, to the 
floating Venice, the bride of the sea ! God ! let me never 
more return to Rome, to the grave of my cherished memo- 
•'ies ! Farewell, my home, my native city ! 


28 o 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


The carriage rolled across the desolate Campagna. The 
dome of St. Peter’s was concealed behind the hills. We 
drove past Monte Soracte, across the mountains, to the nar- 
row Nepi. It was a bright, moonlight evening. A monk was 
preaching before the door of the hotel ; the crowd repeated 
his Viva Santa Maria ! and followed him, singing through the 
streets. The crowd of people carried me along with them. 
The old aqueduct, with its thick, twining plants, and the dark 
olive groves around, formed a dark picture, which corre- 
sponded to my state of mind. 

I passed through the gate by which I had entered. Just 
outside of this lay the vast ruins of a castle or convent, the 
broad high-road running through its dilapidated halls ; a little 
path turned from the main road, and led into the midst of 
them ; ivy and maiden-hair grew dependingly from the walls 
of the solitary cells. I entered into a large hall ; tall grass 
grew above the rubbish and the overthrown capitals ; enwreath- 
ing vine shoots moved their broad leaves through the great 
Gothic windows, where now were only small remains of loosely 
hanging painted glass. Aloft, upon the walls, grew bushes 
and hedges ; the beams fell upon a fresco-painting of Saint 
Sebastian, who stood bleeding, and pierced with an arrow. 
Deep organ-tones resounded, as it seemed, continuously 
through the hall ; I followed the sounds, and, passing out 
through a narrow door, found myself among myrtle hedges 
and luxuriant vine leaves, close to a perpendicular descent of 
great depth, down which a waterfall was precipitated, foam- 
ing and white, in the clear moonlight. 

The whole romantic scene would have surprised any mind, 
yet perhaps my distress would have allowed it to slide out of 
my memory, had not that which I saw further impressed it 
painfully, deeply into my heart. I followed the narrow, almost 
overgrown path, close to the abyss, towards the broad high- 
way. Close beside me, from over the lofty, white wall, upon 
which the moon was shining, stared three pale heads, behind 
an iron grating, the heads of three executed robbers, which, 
as in Rome, on the Porta del Angelo, were placed in iron 
cages, to serve as a terror and a warning to others. There 
was to me nothing terrible in them. In earlier days, the sight 


THE EVENING IN NEE I 


281 


would have driven me away hence ; but suffering makes 
philosophers. The bold head, which had been occupied by 
thoughts of death and plunder, the mountain’s daring eagle, 
was now a silent captive bird, which sat quietly and rationally 
in its cage, like other imprisoned birds. I stepped up quite 
close to them ; they had certainly been placed there within 
a very few days ; every feature was still recognizable. But, 
as I gazed on the middle one, my pulse beat stronger ; it was 
the head of an old woman ! The skin was yellow brown, the 
eyes half open, the long silver-white hair, which hung through 
the grating, waved in the wind. My eye fell upon the stone 
tablet in the wall, where, according to old custom, the name 
and crime of the executed were engraved. Here stood “ Ful- 
via.” I saw also the name of her native city, “ Frascati ; ” 
and, agitated to the very depths of my soul, I stepped back a 
few paces. 

Fulvia, the singular old woman, who had once saved my 
life, she who had obtained the means for my going to Na- 
ples, my life’s inexplicable spirit, did I thus meet with her 
again ! With these pale, blue lips had she once pressed my 
forehead ; these lips, which, to the crowd, had spoken pro- 
phetic words, had given life and death, were now silent, 
breathing forth horror from their very silence ! Thou didst 
prophesy my fortune ? Thy bold eagle lies with clipped 
wings, and has never reached the sun ! In the combat with 
his misfortune, he sinks down into the great Nemi-lake of 
life ! His pinion is broken ! 

I burst into tears, repeated Fulvia’s name, and slowly re- 
traced my steps through the desolate ruins. Never shall I 
forget that evening in Nepi. 

The next morning we journeyed onward, and came to 
Terni, where is the largest and most beautiful waterfall in 
Italy. I rode from the city through the thick, dark olive 
groves, the first which I had penetrated ; wet clouds hung 
around the summits of the mountains ; everything to the north 
of Rome appeared to me dark ; nothing smiling and beautiful, 
as the Marshes and as the orange gardens of Terracina, 
where the green palm-trees grow. Perhaps it was my own 
heart which gave the whole this dark coloring. 


282 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


We v/ent through a garden ; a luxuriant orange alley extended 
itself between the rocky wall and the river, which rushed on- 
ward with the speed of an arrow. Between the rocks I saw a 
cloud of spray ascend high up in the path, upon which a rain- 
bow played. We ascended amid a wilderness of rosemary and 
myrtle ; and, from the very summit of the mountain, above the 
sloping, rocky wall, was hurled the monstrous mass of waters. 
A lesser arm of the river moved along, like a broad silver 
ribbon close beside, and united below the rocks to form a 
broad cascade, which, white as milk, whirled itself down the 
black chasm. I thought upon the cascades at Tivoli, where 
I had improvised to Flaminia. The lofty, rushing stream sang 
to me with a penetratingly thrilling organ-tone the remem- 
brance of my loss and my suffering. To be crushed, to die, 
and vanish, is the lot of Nature ! 

Here,” said our guide, was an Englishman shot last 
year by robbers. It was a band from the Sabine mountains, 
although one may say that they have a home in all the moun- 
tains from Rome to Terni. The authorities are now always 
so much on the alert ! They laid their hands on three un- 
fortunates ; I saw them driven to the city chained to the cart. 
At the gate sat the wise Fulvia, as we called her, from the Sa- 
bine mountains ; she was old, and yet always young ; she 
knew more than many a monk who will get the cardinal’s hat j 
she could tell fortunes in figurative words ; and since this, 
people have said that it was a sign that she was in connection 
with them. Now they have taken her and many of the rob- 
bers. Her hour was come, so now her head is placed grin- 
ning over the gate at Nepi.” 

It was as if everything, man as well as nature, would cast 
night into my soul ; I felt a desire with the speed of the wind 
to chase through the country. The dark olive groves threw 
more shadow into my soul ; the mountains oppressed me. 
Away to the sea, where the wind blew ! to the sea, where one 
heaven bore us, and another vaulted itself above us ! The 
world’s grief must be great when my lot was to be envied ! 

To the sea, the wonderful sea ! That is to me a new world. 
To Venice, the strangely floating city, the queen of the Adri- 
atic ! But not through the dark woods, the together-compress- 


THE BOATMAN’S SONG. 283 

ing mountains ^ quick, in easy flight over the billows 1 So 
dreamed my thoughts. 

It had been my plan to go first to Florence and therefore 
through Bologna and Ferrara. I altered this, however ; left 
the vettiirino in Spoleto, took a place in the mail, and posted 
over the Apennines in the dark night, through Loretto, with- 
out even visiting its holy house. Madonna, forgive me my 
sin ! 

High up, on the mountain road, I had already discerned 
the Adriatic Sea as a silver stripe on the horizon ; the moun- 
tains lay like gigantic waves below me, and now I saw the 
blue, heaving sea, with its national pennons and flags upon its 
ships. I thought of Naples as I saw this ; but no Vesuvius 
heaved itself with its black column of smoke, no Capri lay be- 
yond. I slept here one night, and dreamed of Fulvia and Fla- 
minia. ‘‘ The palm-tree of thy fortune is budding green ! ” 
said they both, and smiled. 1 awoke, and the day was shin- 
ing into my chamber. 

“ Signor ! said the waiter, a vessel lies here which is 
about ready to sail for Venice ; but will you not first of all 
see our city ? ’’ 

‘‘ To Venice ! ’’ cried I : ‘‘quick, quick ! that is exactly my 
wish.” 

An inexplicable feeling drove me onward. I stepped on 
board, ordered my light luggage to be sent after me, and 
looked out over the infinite sea. “ Farewell, my father-land ! ” 
Now, for the first time, I seemed rightly to have flown forth 
into the world, as my feet no longer trod upon the earth. I 
knew perfectly that the north of Italy would present to me a 
new style of scenery. Venice itself was really so different to 
any other Italian city ; a richly adorned bride for the mighty 
sea. The winged Venetian lion waved on the flag above me. 
The sails swelled in the wind, and concealed the coast from 
me. I sat upon the right side of the ship, and looked out 
across the blue, billowy sea ; a young lad sat not far from me, 
and sang a Venetian song about the bliss of love and the 
shortness of life. 

“ Kiss the red lips, on the morrow thou art with the dead ; 
love, whilst thy heart is young, and thy blood is fire and 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


284 

flame ! Gray hairs are the flowers of death : then is the blood 
ice : then is the flame extinguished ! Come into the light 
gondola ! We sit concealed under its roof, we cover the win- 
dows, we close the door, nobody sees thee, my love ! Nobody 
sees how happy we are. We are rocked upon the waves ; the 
waves embrace, and so do we ! Love whilst youth is in thy 
blood. Age kills with frost and with sliow ! ’’ 

As he sung, he smiled and nodded to the others around 
him, and they sang in chorus, about kissing and loving while 
the heart was young. It was a merry song, very merry ; and 
yet it sounded like a magical song of death in my heart. 
Yes, the years speed away, the flames of youth are extin- 
guished. I had poured the holy oil of love out over the earth, 
which kindled neither light nor warmth : to be sure it does no 
damage ; but it flows into the grave, without brightening or 
warming. No promise, indeed, binds me — no obligation! 
Why do not my lips snatch at the refreshing draught of affec- 
tion which they pine for ! I had a feeling ; yes — how shall I 
call it? — a dissatisfaction with myself. Was it the wild Are 
in my breast which had scorched up my understanding ? I 
felt a sort of bitterness against myself for having fled from 
Santa. The holy image of the Madonna fell down ! It was 
the rusted nail which gave way ; and the Jesuit schooFs con- 
ventual bashfulness, and the goats’ milk in my blood, chased 
me thence. How beautiful Santa was 1 I saw her burning, 
affectionate glance, and I grew angry with myself! Wherefore 
should I not be, like Bernardo, like a thousand others, like 
all my young friends ? None, none of all these would have 
been a fool as I had been. My heart desired love : God 
had ordained it, who had implanted this feeling within me. I 
was still young, however : Venice was a gay city, full of beau- 
tiful women. And what does the world give me for my vir- 
tue, thought I, for my child-like temper ? ridicule : and time 
brings bitterness and gray hairs. Thus thought I, and sang in 
chorus with the rest, of kissing and loving whilst the heart 
was yet young. 

It was delirium, the madness of suffering, which excited 
these thoughts in my soul. He who gave to me my life, my 
feelings, and directed my whole destiny, will lead me in love. 


VENICE. 


285 

There are combats, thoughts even, which the most moral dare 
not to express, because the angel of Innocence in our breast 
regards them as sinful. They who indulge the longings of 
their hearts may philosophize beautifully over my speech. 
Judge not, lest ye be judged 1 I felt that in myself, in my 
own corrupt nature, there abode no good thing. I could not 
pray ; and yet I slept whilst the vessel flew onward to the 
north — to the rich Venice. 

In the morning hour, I discerned the white buildings and 
towers of Venice, which seemed like a crowd of ships with 
outspread sails. To the left stretched itself the kingdom of 
Lombardy, with its flat coast : the Alps seemed like pale-blue 
mist in the horizon. Here was the heaven wide. Here the 
half of the hemisphere could mirror itself in the heart. 

In this sweet morning air my thoughts were milder : I was 
more cheerful. I thought about the history of Venice, of the 
city’s wealth and pomp, its independence and supremacy : of 
the magnificent doges, and their marriage with the sea. We 
advanced nearer and nearer to the sea : I could already dis- 
tinguish the individual houses across the Lagunes ; but their 
yellow-gray walls, neither old nor new, did not wear a pleasing 
aspect. St. Mark’s tower I had also imagined to be much lof- 
tier. We sailed in between the main-land and the Lagunes, 
which, like a crooked wall of earth, stretched out into the sea. 
Everywhere it was flat. The shore seemed to be scarcely an 
inch higher than the surface of the water. A few mean 
houses they called the city of Fusina : here and there stood a 
bush ; and, excepting these, there was nothing at all on the 
flat land. I had fancied that we were quite close upon Venice, 
which, however, still lay a mile distant ; and between us and 
it lay an unsightly muddy water, with broad islands of slime, 
upon which not a single bird could find footing, and not a 
single blade of grass could take root. Through the whole 
extent of this lake were dug deep canals, bordered with great 
piles, to indicate their direction. I now saw the gondola for 
the first time : long and narrow, quick as a dart ; but all 
painted coal-black. The little cabin in the centre, covered 
over with black cloth : it was a floating hearse, which shot 
past us with the speed of an arrow. The water was no longer 


286 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


blue, as it was out in the open sea, or close upon the coast of 
Naples : it was of a dirty green. AVe passed by an island 
where the houses seemed to grow up out of the water, or to 
have clung to a wreck : aloft upon the walls stood the Ma* 
donna and the child, and looked out over this desert. In 
some places, the surface of the water was like a moving, 
green plain — a sort of duck-pool, between the deep sea and 
the black islands of soft mud. The sun shone upon Venice: 
all the bells were ringing ; but it looked nevertheless dead and 
solitary. Only one ship lay in the docks ; and not a single 
man could I see. 

I stepped down into the black gondola, and sailed up into 
the dead street, where everything was water, not a foot-breadth 
upon which to walk. Large buildings stood with open doors, 
and with steps down to the water ; the water ran into the 
great door-ways, like a canal ; and the palace-court itself 
seemed only a four-cornered well, into which people could sail, 
but scarcely turn the gondola. The water had left its green- 
ish slime upon the walls : the great marble palace seemed as 
if sinking together ; in the broad windows, rough boards were 
nailed up to the gilded, half-decayed beams. The proud gi- 
ant-body seemed to be falling away piecemeal ; the whole had 
an air of depression about it. The ringing of the bells 
ceased ; not a sound, excepting the splash of the oars in the 
water, was to be heard, and I still saw not a human being. 
The magnificent Venice lay like a dead swan upon the waves. 

We crossed about into the other streets ; small narrow 
bridges of masonry hung over the canals \ and I now saw peo- 
ple who skipped over me, in among the houses, and in among 
the walls even ; for I saw no other streets than those in which 
the gondolas glided. 

‘‘ But where do the people walk ? ’’ inquired I of my gondo- 
lier ; and he pointed to small passages by the bridges, be- 
tween the lofty houses. Neighbor could reach his hand to 
neighbor, from the sixth story across the street \ three people 
could hardly pass each other below, where not a sunbeam 
found its way. Our gondola had passed on, and all was still 
as death. 

“ Is this Venice ? — the rich bride of the sea ? — the mis- 
tress of the world ? ” 


VENICE. 


287 

I saw the magnificent square of St. Mark. “ Here is life ! ” 
people said. But how very different is it in Naples, nay, even 
in Rome, upon the animated Corso ! And yet the square of 
St. Mark is the heart of Venice, where life does exist. Shops 
of books, pearls, and pictures, adorned the long colonnades, 
where, however, it was not yet animated enough. A crowd of 
Greeks and Turks, in bright dresses, and with long pipes in 
their mouths, sat quietly outside of the coffee-houses. The sun 
shone upon the golden cupola of St. Mark’s Church, and upon 
the glorious bronze horses over the portal. From the red 
masts of the ships of Cyprus, Candia, and Morea, depended 
the motionless flags. A flock of pigeons filled the square by 
thousands, and went daintily upon the broad pavement. 

I visited the Ponte Rialto, the pulse-vein which spoke oi 
life ; and I soon comprehended the great picture of Venice — 
the picture of mourning — the impression of my own soul. I 
seemed yet to be at sea, only removed from a smaller to a 
greater ship, a floating ark. 

The evening came j and when the moonbeams cast their 
uncertain light, and diffused broader shadows, I felt myself 
more at liome ; in the hour of the spirit-world, I could first 
become familiar with the dead bride. I stood at the open 
window: the black gondolas glided quickly over the dark, 
moonlit waters. I thought upon the seaman’s song of kissing 
and of love ; felt a bitterness towards Annunciata, who had 
preferred the inconstant Bernardo to me ; and why ? — per- 
haps precisely because of the piquancy which this inconstancy 
gave him — such are women ! I felt bitterness, even towards 
the innocent, pious Flaminia : the tranquillity of the convent 
was more to her than my strong, brotherly love. No, no, I 
would love neither of them more ; there was an emptiness in 
my heart of all, even of those which had once been dear to 
it. I would think of neither of them, I resolved ; and, like 
an uneasy ghost, my thoughts floated between Lara, the image 
of beauty, and Santa, the daughter of sin. 

I entered a gondola, and allowed myself to be taken through 
the streets in the silent evening. The rowers sung their alter- 
nating song, but it was not from the Gerusalemme Liber- 
ata ; ” the Venetians had forgotten even the old melodies of 


288 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


the heart, for their doges were dead, and foreign hands had 
bound the wings of the lion, which was harnessed to their tri- 
umphal car. 

‘‘ I will seize upon life — will enjoy it to the last drop!” 
said I, as the gondola lay still. We were at the hotel 
where I lodged. I went to my own room, and lay down to 
sleep. 

Such was my first day in Venice — a dark and evil day — a 
day which left no peace behind it. But God, like a loving 
parent in his treatment of a wayward child, left me at times to 
my own course, that I might find how far I had gone from 
light and peace. Blessed be His great name 1 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE SrORM. — SOIREE AT MY BANKER’S. — THE NIECE OF 
THE PODESTA. 



'HE letters which I had brought with me obtained for 


X me acquaintances, — friends, as they called themselves ; 
and I was the Signor Abbe. Nobody instructed me, but they 
discovered that everything which I said was good, excellent, 
and that I was possessed of talents. From Excellenza and 
Francesca I had often heard such things said as were very 
painful to me; I was often told that which was very un- 
pleasant for me to hear ; it seemed to me almost as if they 
sought out for everything bad against me, that they might tell 
me that there were a great many people who did not at all 
mean so kindly by me. But this failed of its object. Of 
a certainty I had, however, no honest friends, since it was 
those only who told me disagreeable things. But I, however, 
felt no longer my subordinate condition, the sense of which 
not even Flaminia’s goodness could remove. 

I had now visited the rich palace of the doges, had wan- 
dered in the empty, magnificent halls ; seen the chamber of 
the Inquisition, with the frightful picture of the torments 
of hell. I went through a narrow gallery, over a covered 
bridge, high upon the roof, above the canals on which the gon- 
dolas glided. This is the way from the doge’s palace to the 
prisons of Venice. The bridge is called the Bridge of Sighs. 
Close beside it lie the wells. The light of the lamp alone 
from the passage can force its way between the close iron bars 
into the uppermost dungeon ; and yet this was a cheerful, airy 
hall, in comparison with those which lie lower down, below the 
swampy cellars, deeper even than the water outside in the 
canals ; and yet in these unhappy captives had sighed, and in- 
scribed their names on the damp walls. 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


2 go 

Air, air ! ” demanded my heart, rent with the horrors of 
this place ; and, entering the gondola, I flew with the speed 
of an arrow from the pale-red old palace, and from the col- 
umns of St. Theodoret and the Venetian lion, forth over the 
living, green water, to the Lagunes and Lido, that I might 
breathe the fresh air of the sea — and I found a church-yard. 

Here is the stranger, the Protestant, buried, far from liis 
nativeAUuntry-^ buried upon a little strip of land among the 
waves, which day by day seem to rend away more and more 
of its small remains. White human bones stuck out from the 
sand ; the billows alone wept over them. Here often had sat 
the fisherman’s bride or wife, waiting for the lover or the hus- 
band, who had gone out fishing upon the uncertain sea. The 
storm arose, and rested again upon its strong pinions ; and 
the woman sung her songs out of ‘‘ Gerusalemme Liberata,” 
and listened to hear whether the man replied. But Love gave 
no return in song ; alone she sat there, and looked out over 
the silent sea. Then, also, her lips became silent; her eye 
saw only the white bones of the dead in the sand ; she heard 
only the hollow booming of the billows, whilst night ascended 
over the dead, silent Venice. 

The dark picture filled my thoughts ; my whole state of 
mind gave it a strong coloring. Solemn as a church remind- 
ing of graves, and the invisible saints, stood before me the en- 
tire scene. Flaminia’s words resounded in my ear, that the 
poet, who was a prophet of God, should endeavor only to 
express the glorification of God, and that subjects which 
tended to this were of the highest character. The immortal 
soul ought to sing of the immortal ; the glitter of the moment 
changed its play of color, and vanished with the instant that 
gave it birth. Kindling strength and inspiration fired my 
soul, but quickly died away again. I silently entered the gon- 
dola, which bore me towards Lido. The great open sea lay 
before me, and rolled onward to the shore in long billows. I 
thought of the bay of Amalfi. 

Just beside me, among sea-grass and stones, sat a young 
man sketching, certainly a foreign painter ; it seemed to me 
that I recognized him ; I stepped nearer, he raised his head, 
and we knew each other. It was Poggio, a young Venetian 


l^HE STORM. 291 

nobleman. 1 nad been severa; times in company with him in 
the families whom I visited. 

Signor/’ exclaimed he, you on Lido ! Is it the beauty 
of the scene, or,” added he, ‘‘some other beauty which has 
brought you so near to the angry Adriatic ? ” 

We offered each other our hands. I knew something about 
him : that he had no property, but, on the other hand, great 
talent as a painter ; and yet it had been whispered to me that 
he, in his solitude, was the greatest of misanthropes. To 
judge of him by his conversation, he was personified dissipa- 
tion ; and yet he was in reality propriety itself. According 
to his account of himself, Don Juan might have been his 
model ; and yet, in fact, he combated, like the holy saint Anto- 
nius, against every temptation. A deep heart-sorrow was the 
ground of all this, it was whispered ; but what? — whether his 
small worldly means or an unhappy love affair ? No, nobody 
knew that rightly. He seemed to speak out everything, not 
to conceal the smallest thought ; his behavior seemed simple 
as that of a child, and yet nobody seemed rightly at all to un- 
derstand him. All this had interested me, and this meeting 
with him now was very agreeable to me ; it dissipated the 
clouds from my soul. 

“ Such a blue, billowy plain,” said he, pointing to the sea, 
“ is not to be found in Rome ! The sea is the most beautiful 
thing on the earth ! It is also the mother of Venus, and,” 
added he, laughing, “ is the widow of all the mighty doges 
of Venice.” 

“The Venetians must especially love the sea,” said I ; “re- 
garding it as their grandmother, who carried them and played 
with them for the sake of her beautiful daughter Venetia.” 

“ She is nc longer beautiful now, she bows her head,” re- 
plied he. 

“ Rut yet,” said I, “ she is still happy under the sway of the 
Emperor Francis.” 

“ It is a prouder thing to be queen upon the sea than a 
caryatide upon land,” returned he. “ The Venetians have 
nothing to complain about, and politics are what I do not 
understand, but beauty, on the contrary, I do ; and if you are 
a patron of it, as I do not doubt but you are, see, here comes 


rHE IMPROVISATORE, 


292 

my landlady’s handsome daughter, and inquires whether you 
will take part in my frugal dinner ! ” 

We went into the little house close by the shore. The 
wine was good, and Poggio most charming and entertaining. 
No one could have believed that his heart secretly bled. 

We had sat here certainly a couple of hours, when my gon- 
dolier came to inquire whether I would not return, as there 
was every appearance of a storm coming on ; the sea was in 
great agitation, and between Lido and Venice the waves ran 
so high, that the light gondola might easily be upset. 

A storm 1 ” exclaimed Poggio, “ that is what I have wished 
for many a time. You must not let that escape you,” said he 
to me ; it will abate again towards evening, and, even if it 
do not, there is convenience here for us to pass the night, and 
comfortably to let it go over our heads, whilst the dash of the 
waves sings us to sleep.” 

‘‘ I can at any time take a gondola here from the island,” 
said I to the gondolier, and dismissed him. 

The storm beat violently on the window. We went into 
the open air. The descending sun illumined the dark-green 
agitated sea ; the billows heaved themselves, crested with 
white foam, and sank down again. Far in the distance, where 
the clouds stood like cliffs torn by lightning, we perceived 
several boats — one moment they were in sight, and then 
gone again. The billows lifted themselves up and struck upon 
the shore, covering us with their salt drops. The higher the 
waves flew, the louder Poggio laughed, clapped his hands, and 
shouted Bravo ! ” to the wild element. His example in- 
fected me, and my infirm heart felt itself better amid this ex- 
citement of nature. 

It soon became night. I ordered the hostess to bring us in 
the best wine, and we drank to the health of the storm and 
the sea, and Poggio sung the same song about love which I 
had heard in the ship. 

‘‘ Health to the Venetian ladies ! ” said I, and he rang his 
glass against mine to the beautiful Roman ones. Had a 
stranger seen us, he would have thought that we were two 
happy young friends. 

The Roman women,” said Poggio, ‘‘ pass for the hand- 
somest. Tell me, now, honestly, your opinion.” 


THE S TORM. 


293 


"I consider them as such/^ said 1. 

‘‘ Well ! ” said Poggio, ‘‘ but the Queen of Beauty lives in 
Venice ! You should see the niece of our Podesta ! I know 
nothing more spiritually beautiful than she ; such as she is 
would Canova have represented the youngest of the Graces 
had he known Maria. I have only seen her at mass and 
once in the theatre of Saint Moses. There go all the young 
Venetians,- like me, only they are in love with her to the death. 
I only adore her ; she is too spiritual for my fleshly nature. 
But one really must adore what is heavenly. Is it not so, 
Signor Abbe ? ” 

I thought on Flaminia, and my momentarily kindled merri- 
ment was at an end. 

‘‘You are become grave!” said he; “the wine is really 
excellent, and the waves sing and dance to our bacchana- 
lia 1 ” 

“ Does the Podesta see much company ? ” inquired I, that I 
might say something. 

“ Not often,” replied Poggio ; “ what company he has is 
very select 1 The beauty is shy as an antelope, fearfully bash- 
ful, like no other woman that ever I knew ; but,” added he, 
with a jocular smile, “ it may be also a way of making herself 
interesting 1 Heaven knows how the whole rightly hangs to- 
gether ! You see, our Podesta had two sisters ; both of them 
were away from him a great many years ; the youngest was 
married in Greece, and is the mother of this beautiful girl ; 
the other sister is still unmarried, is an old maid, and she 
brought the beauty here about four years ago ” — 

A sudden darkness interrupted his speech 1 it was as if the 
black night had wrapped us in its mantle, and at the same 
moment the red lightning illumined all around. A thunder- 
clap followed, which reminded me of the eruptions of Vesu 
vius. 

Our heads bowed themselves, and involuntarily we made the 
§ign of the cross. 

“ Jesus, Maria ! ” said the hostess, entering our room, “ it is 
a fear and a horror to think of! Four of our best fishermen 
are out at sea ! Madonna keep her hand over them ! The 
poor Agnese sits with five children — that will be a misery ! ” 


294 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


We perceived, through the storm, the singing of a psalm. 
There stood upon the shore against which the billows broke 
in lofty surf a troop of women and children with the holy 
cross : a young woman sat silently among them, with her 
glance riveted on the sea ; one little child lay on her breast, 
and another, somewhat older, stood by her side, and laid its 
head on her lap. 

With the last fearful flash, the storm seemed to have re- 
moved itself to a greater distance ; the horizon became 
brighter, and more clearly shone the white foam upon the 
boiling sea. 

“ There they are ! ” exclaimed the woman, and sprang up 
and pointed to a black speck, which became more and more 
distinct. 

Madonna be merciful to them ! ’’ said an old fisherman, 
who, with his thick brown hood drawn over his head, stood 
with folded hands, and gazed on the dark object. At that 
same moment it vanished in a foaming whirlpool. 

The old man had seen aright. I heard the scream of the 
despairing little group ; it grew all the stronger as the sea be- 
came calmer, the heaven clearer, and the certainty greater. 
The children dropped the holy cross ; they let it fall in the 
sand, and clung, crying, to their mothers. The old fisherman, 
however, raised it again, impressed a kiss upon the Redeem- 
er’s feet, raised it on high, and named the holy name of the 
Madonna. 

Towards midnight the heavens were clear, the sea more 
tranquil, and the full moon cast her long beams over the calm 
bay between the Island and Venice. Poggio entered the gon- 
dola with me, and we left the unfortunates, whom we could 
neither assist nor comfort. 

The next evening we met again at my banker’s, one of the 
richest in Venice. The company was very numerous ; of the 
^adies I knew none, neither had I any interest about them. 

They began to speak in the room of the storm the evening 
before. Poggio took up the word, and told of the death of 
the fishermen, of the misfortune of the families, and gave it to 
be very clearly understood how easily a great deal of their 
distress might be relieved ; how a small gift from every person 


SOIREE AT MY B ANKERS S, 295 

present would amount to a sum which would be of the greatest 
benefit to the unfortunately bereaved families, but nobody 
seemed to understand him ; they deplored, shrugged their 
shoulders, and then began talking of something else. 

Presently those who were possessed of any company talent, 
produced it for public benefit. Poggio sang a merry barca- 
role ; but I seemed to see the while, in his polite smile, bitter- 
ness and coldness towards the dignified circle, which would 
not allow themselves to be guided by his noble eloquence. 

“ You do not sing ?’’ asked the lady of the house from me, 
when he had done. 

I will have the honor to improvise before you,’’ said I, as 
a thought entered my mind. 

He is an improvisatore,” I heard whispered around me. 
The eyes of the ladies sparkled j the gentlemen bowed. I 
took a guitar, and begged them to give me a subject. 

Venice ! ” cried a lady, looking boldly into my eyes. 

“Venice!” repeated the young gentlemen, “because the 
ladies are handsome ! ” 

I touched a few chords j described the pomp and glory of 
Venice in the days of her greatness, as I had read about it, 
and as my imagination had dreamed of its being, and all eyes 
flashed ; they fancied that it was so now. I sang about the 
beauty in the balcony in the moonlight night, and every lady 
imagined I meant it for her, and clapped her hands in ap- 
plause. Sgricci ^ himself could not have had more success. 

“ She is here I ” whispered Poggio to me, — “ the niece of 
Podesta.” 

But we were prevented from saying more to each other. I 
was requested yet again to improvise : a deputation of ladies 
and an old Excellenza presented the wishes of the company. 
I was willing, because it was my own wish ; I had anticipated 
it, and onlyMesired that in some one of the given themes 1 
might find occasion to describe the storm which I had seen, 
the misery of the unfortunates, and by the might of song to 
conquer where eloquence could not move. 

They gave me the Apotheosis of Titian. If he had only 
been a seaman, I would have brought him forward as spokes 
1 One of the celebrated improvisatori of our time. — Author's Note, 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


296 

man on the occasion, but in his praise I could not bring in the 
idea which I wished to develop. The subject was, neverthe- 
less, a rich one ; my management of it exceeded expectation ; 
I stood like the idol of the company j it was my own Apo- 
theosis ! 

“No happiness can be greater than yours ! ” said the lady 
of the house ; “ it must be an infinitely delightful feeling, that 
of possessing a talent like yours, that can transport and charm 
all those around you.’’ 

“ It is a delightful feeling ! ” said I. 

“ Describe it in a beautiful poem ! ” said she, beseechingly ; 
“ it is so easy to you that one forgets how unreasonable one 
is in making so many demands upon you.” 

“ I know one sentiment,” returned I, and my design gave 
me boldness, — “I know one emotion which is not exceeded 
by any other, which makes every heart a poet, w^hich awakes 
the same consciousness of happiness, and I consider myself 
to be so great a magician as to have the power of exciting it 
in every heart. But this art has this peculiarity, that it cannot 
be given ; it must be purchased.” 

“ We must become acquainted with it,” they all exclaimed. 

“ Here, upon this table,” said I, “ I collect the sums ; he 
who gives the most will be most deeply initiated therein.” 

“ I will give my gold chain,” said one lady, immediately, 
laughing, and laid it in sport upon the table. 

“ I, all my card-money,” cried another, and smiled at my 
fancy. 

“ But it is a serious earnestness ! ” said I. “ The pledges 
must not be reclaimed.” 

“ We will venture it,” said the many,” who had already laid 
down gold, chains, and rings, still inwardly having doubts of 
my power. 

“ But if no emotion whatever takes hold of me,” said an of- 
ficer, “ may I not then take back my two ducats ? ” 

“ Then, the wagers are forfeited ? ” cried Poggio. I bowed 
^ssentingly. 

All laughed, all waited for the result full of expectation ; 
and I began to improvise. A holy flame penetrated me ; I 
sang about the proud sea, — the bridegroom of Venice ; about 


SOIREE AT MY B ANKERS S, 297 

the sons of the sea, — the bold mariners and fishermen in 
their little boats. I described the storm ; the wife’s and the 
bride’s longing and anxiety ; described that which I myself 
had seen ; the children who had let fall the holy crucifix, 
and clung to their mothers, and the old fisherman, who 
kissed the feet of the Redeemer. It was as if God had 
spoken through me — as if I were the work-tool of His 
strong word. 

A deep silence prevailed through the room, and many an 
eye wept. 

I then conducted them into the huts of poverty, and took 
help and life through our little gift, and I sang how much 
more blessed it was to give than to receive, sang of the delight 
which filled my breast, which filled every heart that had con- 
tributed its mite. It was a feeling which nothing could out- 
weigh ; it was the divine voice in all hearts, which made them 
holier, and loftier, and elevated them to the poet ! And, whilst 
I spoke, my voice increased in strength and fullness. 

I had won everything. A tumultuous bravo saluted me ; 
and, at the conclusion of my song, I handed the rich gifts to 
Poggio, that thereby he might take help to the unfortunates. 

A young lady sank at my feet, — a more beautiful triumph 
had my talent never obtained for me, — seized my hand, and, 
wkh tears in her beautiful dark eyes, looked gratefully into 
my soul. This glance singularly agitated me ; it was an ex- 
pression of beauty which I seemed to have once beheld in a 
dream. 

The Mother of God reward you ! ” stammered she, whilst 
the blood crimsoned her cheek. She concealed her counte- 
nance, and withdrew from me, as if in horror at what she 
had done ; and who could have been so cruel as to have made 
a jest of the pure emotions of innocence ? Every one pressed 
around me ; they were inexhaustible in my praise. All talked 
about the unfortunates of Lido ; and I stood there as their 
benefactor. 

“ It is more blessed to give than to receive ! ” This even- 
ing had taught me the truth of this. Poggio pressed me in 
his arms. 

“ Excellent man,” said he, “ I esteem and honor you ! 


THE IMPROVISATORE 


298 

Beauty brings to you her homage ; she, who with a look 
can make thousands happy, bows herself before you in the 
dust ! ” 

Who was she ? ’’ inquired I, with a constrained voice. 

“ The most beautiful in Venice ! replied he. “ The niece 
of the Podesta ! ’’ 

That remarkable glance, that shape of beauty, stood livingly 
impressed in my soul ; inexplicable remembrances awoke, and 
I also exclaimed, ‘‘ She was beautiful ! ’’ 

You do not recognize me, then, signor? ’’ said an old lady, 
who came up to me. It is many years since I had the honor 
of making your acquaintance ! ’’ She smiled, offered me her 
hand, and thanked me for my improvisation. 

I bowed politely ; her features seemed familiar to me, but 
when and where I had seen her was not clear to me. I was 
obliged to say so. 

Yes, that is natural ! ’’ said she ; we have only seen each 
other one single time ! That was in Naples. My brother was a 
physician. You visited him with a gentleman of the Borghese 
family.” 

‘‘ I remember it ! ” I exclaimed. “ Yes, now I recognize 
you ! Least of all did I expect that we should meet again 
here in Venice ! ” 

‘‘My brother,” said she, “for whom I kept house, died 
about four years ago. Now, I live with my elder brother. 
Our servant shall take you our card. My niece is a child — 
a strange child ; she will go away — away instantly. I must 
attend her ! ” 

The old lady again gave me her hand, and left the room. 

“ Lucky fellow ! ” said Poggio ; “ that was the Podesta’s sis- 
ter ! You know her, have had an invitation from her ! Half 
of Venice will envy you. Button your coat well about your 
heart when you go there, that you be not wounded like the 
rest of us, who approach in the slightest degree towards the 
enemy’s battery.” 

The beauty was gone. At the moment of emotion, trans- 
ported by her feelings, she had fallen at my feet ; but in the 
same moment had awoke her great bashfulness ; and maidenly 
shame, and anxiety, and horror, at her own deed, had driven 


THE NIECE OF THE PODESTA, 


299 

her away from the great circle, where she had drawn attention 
to herself; and yet nothing was said but in her praise and ad- 
miration. They united her praises with mine ! The queen of 
beauty had enchanted every one. Her heart, they said, was 
as noble as her form. 

The consciousness of having done a good work threw a ray 
of light into my soul ; I felt a noble pride ; felt my own hap- 
piness in being possessed of the gift of song. All the praise 
and love which surrounded me melted away all bitterness from 
my soul ; it seemed to me as if my spiritual strength Tad 
arisen purer and mightier from its swoon. I thought of Fla- 
minia, and thought of her without pain ; she would, indeed, 
have pressed my hand as a sister. Her words, that the poet 
ought only to sing of that which was holy and for the glorify- 
ing of God, cast a clear light into my soul. I felt again 
strength and courage ; a mild tranquillity diffused itself over 
my wTole being ; and, for the first time, after many, many 
months, I again felt happiness. It was a delightful evening. 

Poggio rung his glass against mine. We concluded a 
friendship between us, and sealed it with a brotherly thoic. 

It was late when I returned home, but I felt no want of 
sleep ; the moon shone so brightly upon the water in the 
canal, the atmosphere was so high and blue. With the pious 
faith of a child, I folded my hands and prayed, ‘^Father, for- 
give me my sins ! Give me strength to become a good and 
noble man, and thus may I dare still to remember Flaminia, to 
think upon my sister. Strengthen, also, her soul ; let her never 
imagine of my suffering ! Be good to us, and merciful. Eter- 
nal God ! ” 

And now my heart was wondrously light ; the empty canals 
of Venice and the old palaces seemed to me beautiful, — a 
sleeping fairy world. 

The next morning I was as cheerful as ever ; a noble pride 
had awoke in my breast. I was happy because of my spirit- 
ual gifts, and thankful to God. I took a gondola, to go and 
make my visit at the house of the Podesta, whose sister I 
knew ; to speak candidly, I had also a desire to see the young 
lady who had paid such living homage to me, and who passed 
for the queen of beauty. 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


300 

‘‘ Palazzo d’Othello ! said the gondolier, and led me 
through the great canal to an old building, relating to me the 
while how the Moor of Venice, who killed his beautiful wife 
Desdemona, had lived there ; and that all the English went 
to visit this house, as if it were St. Mark’s Church, or the 
arsenal. 

They all received me as if I had been a beloved relation. 
Rosa, the Podesta’s old sister, talked of her dear deceased 
brother ; of lively, merry Naples, which she had not now seen 
for these four years. 

‘‘Yes,” said she, “ Maria longs for it, also ; and we will set 
off when they least think of it. I must see Vesuvius and the 
beautiful Capri yet once more before I die ! ” 

Maria entered and offered me her hand, wuth a sisterly, and 
yet singularly bashful manner. She was beautiful ; indeed, I 
thought more beautiful than when last evening she had bent 
herself before me. Poggio was right ; so must the youngest of 
the Graces appear ; no female form could have been more ex- 
quisitely formed — Lara, perhaps ? Y es, Lara, the blind girl 
in her poor garments, with the little bouquet of violets in her 
hair, was as beautiful as Maria in her splendid dress. Her 
closed eyes had appealed to my heart more touchingly than 
the singularly dark glance of fire in Maria’s eyes ; every fea- 
ture, however, had a pensive expression like Lara’s ; but 
then, in the open, dark eye, was peace and joy, which Lara 
had never known. There was, nevertheless, so much resem- 
blance as to bring the blind girl to my mind, whom she never 
had seen, nay, even that strange reverential feeling, as if to 
some superior being, again into my heart. 

My powers of mind exhibited greater flexibility, my elo- 
quence became richer. I felt that I pleased every one of 
them ; and Maria seemed to bestow upon my talents as much 
admiration as her beauty won from me. 

I looked upon her as a lover looks upon a beautiful female 
figure, the perfect image of his beloved. In Maria, I found all 
Lara’s beauty almost as in a mirror, and Flaminia’s entire sis- 
terly spirit ; one could not but have confidence in her. It was 
to me as if we had known one another for a long time. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE SINGER. 


GREAT event in my life lies so near to me here that it 



1~\. almost dislodges all others from my mind, as the lofty 
pine-tree of the wood draws away the eye from the low under- 
growth ; I therefore only passingly describe that which lies in 
the middle ground. 

I was often at the house of the Podesta — I was, they said, 
its enlivening genius. Rosa talked to me about her beloved 
Naples, and I read aloud to her und her niece the “ Divina 
Commedia,” Alfieri, and Nicolini, and I was captivated with 
Maria’s mind and feeling as much as with the works of the 
poets themselves. Out of this house Poggio was my dearest 
associate ; they knew it, and he, too, was invited by the Po- 
desta. He thanked me for this, and declared that it was my 
merits and not his, and our friendship, which had introduced 
him there, for which he was the envy of the whole youth of 
Venice. 

Everywhere was my talent as improvisatore admired, nay, 
it was so highly esteemed that no circle would allow me to 
escape before I had gratified their wish by giving them a 
proof of my power. The first artists extended to me their 
hands as brothers, and encouraged me to come forward in 
public. And in part I did so before the members of the 
Academia del Arte one evening, by improvising on Dandola’s 
procession to Constantinople, and upon the bronze horses on 
the church of St. Mark, for which I was honored with a di- 
ploma and received into their Society. 

But a much greater pleasure awaited me in the house of the 
Podesta. One day Maria presented to me a little casket con- 
taining a beautiful necklace of lovely, bright-colored mussel- 
shells, exceedingly small, delicate, and lovely, strung upon a 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


302 

silken thread ; it was a present from the unfortunates of Lido, 
whose benefactor I was called. 

It is very beautiful/^ said Maria. 

That you must preserve for your bride/’ said Rosa ; it 
is a lovely gift for her, and with that intention has it been 
given.” 

“ My bride,” repeated I, gravely : “ I have not one — really 
have not one.” 

‘‘But she will come,” said Rosa, “you will have a bride, 
and certainly the most beautiful.” 

“ Never !” repeated I, and looked on the ground, in the 
deep sense of how much I had lost. 

Maria, also, became silent with my dejection. She had 
pleased herself so much in the idea of astonishing me by the 
gift, and had received it from Poggio, to whom it had been 
given for that purpose ; and I now stood embarrassed, con- 
cealing my embarrassment so ill, and holding the necklace in 
my hand. I would so gladly have given it to Maria, but 
Rosa’s words staggered my determination. Maria certainly 
divined my thoughts, for, as I fixed my eye upon her, a deep 
crimson flushed her countenance. 

“You come very seldom to us,” said my rich banker’s wife 
one day as I paid her a visit, — “ very seldom come here, but 
to the Podesta’s ! — yes, that is more amusing ! Maria is, in- 
deed, the first beauty in Venice, and you are the first impro- 
visatore. It will thus be a very good match ; the girl will 
have a magnificent estate in Calabria ; it is her own heritage, 
or has been bought for that purpose. Be bold, and it will 
succeed. You will be the envy of all Venice.” 

“ How can you think,” returned I, “ that such a conceited 
thought should enter my mind ? I am as far from being a 
lover of Maria’s as anybody else can be. Her beauty charms 
me, as all beauty does, but that is not love ; and that she has 
fortune does not operate with me.” 

“ Ah, well, well ! we shall see for all that ! ” said the lady. 
“ Love gets on best in life when it stands well in the kitchen 
— when there is enough to fill the pot. It is out of this that 
people must live ! ” And with this she laughed and gave me 
her hand. 


THE SINGER. 


303 

It provoked me that people should think and should talk in 
this way. I determined to go less frequently to the house of 
the Podesta, spite of their all being so dear to me. I had 
thought of spending this evening with them, but I now altered 
my determination. My blood was in agitation. Nay, thought 
I, wherefore vex myself } I will be cheerful. Life is beauti- 
ful if people will only let it be so ; free I am and nobody 
shall influence me ! Have I not strength and will of my 
own ? 

In the dusk of the evening I took a ramble alone through 
the narrow streets, where the houses met one another, where, 
therefore, the little rooms were brightly lighted up, and the 
people thronged together. The lights shone in long rays upon 
the Great Canal, the gondolas flew rapidly along under the 
single lofty arch which sustained the bridge. I heard the 
voice of singing ; it was that ballad about kissing and love, 
and, like the serpent around the tree of knowledge, I knew 
the beautiful face of Sin. 

I went onward through the narrow streets, and came to a 
house more lighted up than any of the others, into which a 
crowd of people were going. It was one of the minor theatres 
of Venice, Saint Lucas’, I believe, it was called. A little 
company gave the same opera there twice in the day, as in the 
‘‘ Theatro Fenize ” in Naples. The first representation of the 
piece begins about four o’clock in the afternoon and ends at 
six, and the second begins at eight. The price was very low, 
but nobody must expect to see anything extraordinary ; yet 
the desire which the lower classes here have to hear music, 
and the curiosity of strangers, cause there often to be very 
good houses, and that even twice in the evening. 

I now read in the play-bill, “ Donna Caritea^ regina de 
Spagna^ the music by Mercadante.” 

“ I can come out again if I get weary of it,” said I to my- 
self ; “ and, at all events, I can go in and look at the pretty 
women.” I was in the humor for the thing, and resolved to 
enjoy myself. 

I went in, received a dirty little ticket, and was conducted 
to a box near the stage. There were two rows of boxes, one 
above the other ; the places for the spectators were right spa- 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


304 

cious, but the stage itself seemed to me like a tray : several 
people could not have turned themselves round upon it, and 
yet there was going. to be exhibited an equestrian opera, with 
a tournament and a procession. The boxes were internally 
dirty and defaced j the ceiling seemed to press the whole to- 
gether. A man in his shirt-sleeves came forward to light the 
lamps ; the people talked aloud in the pit ; the musicians 
came into the orchestra — they could only raise a quartette. 

Everything showed what the whole might be expected to be, 
yet still I resolved to wait out the first act. I noticed the 
ladies around me — none of them pleased me. A young man 
now entered the box next to mine ; I had met him in com- 
pany. He smiled and offered me his hand, saying, — 

Who would have thought of meeting you here ? But,” 
whispered he, one can often make very pleasant acquaint- 
ance here ; in the pale moonlight people easily get ac- 
quainted.” 

He kept talking on and was hissed, because the overture 
had begun ; it sounded very deplorable, and the curtain rolled 
up. The whole corps consisted of two ladies and three gen- 
tlemen, who looked as if they had been fetched in from field 
labor, and bedizened in knightly apparel. 

‘‘Yes,” said my neighbor, “the solo parts are often not 
badly cast. Here is a comic actor who might figure in any 
first-rate theatre. Ah, ye good saints ! ” exclaimed he to him- 
self, as the queen of the piece entered with two ladies ; 
“are we to have her to-night.^ Yes, then, I would not give 
a half-zwanziger for the whole thing ; Jeanette was much 
better ! ” 

It was a slight, ordinary figure, with a thin, sharp counte- 
nance, and deeply-sunken dark eyes, who now came forward. 
Her miserable dress hung loosely about her ; it was poverty 
which came forward as the queen ; and yet it was with a grace 
which amazed me, and which accorded so little with the rest, 
— a grace which would excellently have become a young 
and beautiful girl. She advanced towards the lamps — my 
heart beat violently ; I scarcely dared to inquire her name ; I 
believed that my eyes deceived me. 

“ What is she called ? ” at length I asked. 


THE SINGER. 305 

“ Annunciata/’ replied my neighbor. Sing she cannot, 
and that one may see by that little skeleton ! ” 

Every word fell upon my heart like corrosive poison ; I 
sat as if nailed fast ; my eyes were fixed immovably upon 
her. 

She sang ; no, it was not Annunciata’s voice ; it sounded 
feeble, inharmonious, and uncertain. 

‘‘There are certainly traces of a good school/^ said my 
neighbor ; “ but there is not power for it.’’ 

“ She does not resemble,” said I tremulously, “ a namesake 
of hers, Annunciata, a young Spaniard, who once made a 
great figure in Naples and Rome ” 

“Ah, yes,” answered he; “it is she herself! Seven or 
eight years ago she sat on the high horse. Then she was 
young, and had a voice like a Malibran ; but now all the gild- 
ing is gone ; that is, in reality, the lot of all such talents I 
For a few years they shine in their meridian glory, and, daz- 
zled by admiration, they never think that they may decline, 
and thus rationally retire whilst glory is beaming around them. 
The public first find out the change, and that is the melancholy 
part of it ; and then, commonly, these good ladies live too 
expensively, and all their gains are squandered, and then it 
goes down hill at a gallop ! You have then seen her in 
Rome, have you ? ” asked he. 

“Yes,” replied I, “several times.” 

“ It must be a horrible change ! most to be deplored, how- 
ever, for her,” said he. “ She is said to have lost her voice in 
a long, severe sickness, which must be some four or five years 
since ; but with that the public has nothing to do. Will you 
not clap for old acquaintance sake ? I will help ; it will 
please the old lady 1 ” 

He clapped loudly ; some in the parterre followed his ex- 
ample, but then succeeded a loud hissing, amid which the 
queen proudly went off the scene. It was Annunciata ! 

Fuimus Troes whispered my neighbor. Now came for 
ward the heroine of the piece ; she was a very pretty young 
girl, of a luxuriant form, and with a burning glance ; she was 
received with acclamations and the clapping of hands. All 
the old recollections rushed into my soul ; the transports of 
20 


THE IMPEO EISA TORE. 


306 

the Roman people and their jubilations over Annunciata ; her 
triumphal procession, and my strong love ! Bernardo, then, 
had also forsaken her ; or, had she not loved him ? I saw 
really how she bent her head down to him and pressed her 
lips upon his brow. He had forsaken her — forsaken her, 
then she became ill, and her beauty had vanished ; it was that 
alone which he had loved ! 

She again came forward in another scene ; how suffering she 
looked, and how old 1 It was a painted corpse which terrified 
me. I was embittered against Bernardo, who could forsake 
her for the loss of her beauty, and yet it was that which had 
wounded me so deeply ; the beauty of Annunciata’s soul must 
have been the same as before. 

“ Are you not well } inquired the stranger of me, for I 
looked deadly pale. 

“ It is here so oppressively warm,’’ said I ; rising, I left the 
box, and went out into the fresh air. I hastened through the 
narrow streets ; a thousand emotions agitated my breast ; I 
knew not where to go. I stood again outside the theatre, 
where a fellow was just taking down the placard to put up the 
one for the next day. 

Where does Annunciajta live ? ” whispered I in his ear ; he 
turned himself round, looked at me, and repeated, “ Annun- 
ciata ? Signor means, no doubt, Aurelia ? she who acted the 
part of the man within ? I will show you her house ; but she 
is not yet at liberty.” 

“ No, no,” replied I, “ Annunciata ; she who sang the part 
of the queen.” 

The fellow measured me with his eye. 

“ The little thin woman ? ” asked he ; “ yes, she, I fancy, is 
not accustomed to visitors, but there may be good reasons. I 
will show the gentleman the house ; you will give me some- 
thing for my trouble ! but you cannot see her yet for an hour ; 
the opera will detain her as long as that.” 

“ Wait, then, here for me,” said I ; entering a gondola, I 
bade the man row me about wherever he would. My soul was 
inwardly troubled ; I must yet once more see Annunciata — 
talk to her : she was unhappy ! but what could I do for her ? 
Anguish and sorrow drove me on. 


THE SINGER. 


307 

An hour was scarcel}^ gone when the gondola again lay 
with me before the theatre ; where I found the fellow waiting 
for me. 

He led me through narrow, dirty lanes, to an old desolate 
house, in the uppermost garret of which a light was burning ; 
he pointed up. 

‘‘ Does she live there 'I ” I exclaimed. 

I will lead Excellenza in,’' said he, and pulled at the bell- 
cord. 

“ Who is there ? ” inquired a female voice. 

“ Marco Lugano ! ” replied he, and the door opened. 

It was dark night within ; the little lamp before the image 
of the Madonna was gone out, the glimmering wick alone 
shone like a point of blood ; I kept close to him. A door far 
above was opened, and we saw a ray of light shine down to- 
wards us. 

“ Now she comes herself,” said the man. 

I slipped a few pieces of money into his hand ; he thanked 
me a thousand times, and hastened down, whilst I ascended 
the last steps. 

“Are there any new changes for to-morrow, Marco Lu- 
gano ? ” I heard the voice inquire ; it was Annunciata ; she 
stood at the door ; a little silken net was bound round her 
hair, and a large wrapping dress was thrown loosely about 
her. 

“ Do not fall, Marco,” said she, and went before into the 
room, whilst I followed after her. 

“ Who are you ? What do you want here ? ” exclaimed she, 
terrified, as she saw me enter. 

“Jesus, Maria!” cried she, and pressed her hands before 
her face. 

“ A friend 1 ” stammered I ; “an old acquaintance, to whom 
you once occasioned much joy, much happiness, seeks you out, 
and ventures to offer you his hand 1 ” 

She took her hands from her face, pale as death, and stood 
ike a corpse ; and the dark, intellectual eyes, glowed wildly. 
Older Annunciata had become, and bore the marks of suffer- 
ing ; but there were still remains of that wonderful beauty, 
still that same soul-beaming but melancholy look. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


308 

Antonio ! ” said she, and I saw a tear in her eye ; is it 
thus we meet ? Leave me 1 our paths lie so wide apart — 
yours upwards to happiness, mine down — to happiness also,” 
sighed she deeply. 

‘‘ Drive me not from 3 ^ou ! ” exclaimed I ; as a friend — a 
brother I am come ; my heart impelled me to it! You are 
unhappy, you to whom thousands acclaimed gladness — who 
made thousands happy I ” 

“ The wheel of fortune turns round,’* said she. “ Fortune 
follows youth and beauty, and the world harnesses itself to 
their triumphal car ; intellect and heart are the worst dower 
of nature ; they are forgotten for youth and beauty, and the 
world is always right I ” 

“You have been ill, Annunciata ! ” said I; and my lips 
trembled. 

“ 111 — very ill, for almost a year ; but it was not the death 
of me,” said she, with a bitter smile ; “ youth died, however ; 
my voice died ; and the public became dumb at the sight of 
these two corpses in one body ! The physician said that they 
were only apparently dead, and the body believed so. But 
the body required clothing and food, and for two long years 
gave all its wealth to purchase these ; then it must paint itself, 
and come forward as if the dead were still living, but it came 
forward as a ghost, and that people might not be frightened at 
it, it showed itself again in a little theatre where few lamps 
were burning, and it was half dark. But, even there they ob- 
served that youth and voice were dead, were buried corpses. 
Annunciata is dead ; there hangs her living image ! ” and she 
pointed to the wall. 

In that miserable chamber hung a picture, a half length pic- 
ture, in a rich gilded frame, which made a strange contrast to 
the other poverty around. It was the picture of Annunciata, 
painted as Dido, It was her image as it stood in my soul ; 
the intellectually beautiful countenance, with pride on the 
brow. I looked round upon the actual Annunciata ; she held 
her hands before her face and wept. 

“Leave me, — forget my existence, as the world has for* 
gotten it ! ” besought she, and motioned with her hands. 


THE SINGER. 3O9 

“ I cannot/’ said I — “ cannot thus leave you ! Madonna 
is good and merciful ; Madonna will help us all ! ” 

Antonio/’ said she, solemnly, “ can you make a jest of me 
in my misfortune ? No, that you cannot, like all the rest of the 
world. But I do not comprehend you. When all the world 
acclaimed my praise, and lavished flattery and adoration upon 
me, you forsook me — forsook me so entirely ! And now, when 
my glory which had captivated the world is gone, when every- 
body regards me as a foreign, indifferent object, you come to 
me — seek me out ! ” 

You yourself drove me from you ! ” exclaimed I ; drove 
me out into the world ! My fate, my circumstances,” added 
I, in a milder tone, drove me out into the world ! ” 

She became silent ; but her eye was riveted with a strangely 
searching expression upon me. She seemed as if she wished 
to speak ; the lips moved, but she spoke not. A deep sigh 
ascended from her breast ; she cast her eyes upwards, and 
then sank them to the floor. Her hand was passed over 
her forehead ; it was as if a thought went through her soul, 
known only to God and herself. 

I have seen you again ! ” exclaimed she at length ; seen 
you yet once more in this world ! I feel that you are a good, 
a noble man. May you be happier than I have been ! The 
swan has sung its last ! Beauty has gone out of flower ! I 
am quite alone in this world ! Of the happy Annunciata 
there remains only the picture on the wall ! I have now one 
prayer,” said she, “ one prayer, which you will not refuse me ! 
Annunciata, who once delighted you, beseeches you to grant 
it! ” 

All, all, I promise ! ” exclaimed I, and pressed her hand 
to my lips. 

Regard it as a dream,” said she, “ that you have seen me 
this evening ! If we meet again in this world, we do not 
know each other ! Now we part 1 She offered me, with these 
words, her hand, and added, “ In a better world we shall 
meet again ! Here our paths separate I Farewell, Antonio, 
farewell 1 ” 

I sank down, overcome by sorrow, before her. I knew 


3 1 0 THE IMPRO VISA TORE, 

nothing more ; she directed me like a child, and I wept like 
one. 

‘‘ I come ! I come again ! ’’ said I, and left her. 

Farewell ! ” I heard her say , but I saw her no more. 

All was dark below and in the street. 

“ God, how miserable may Thy creatures be ! ’’ exclaimed I 
in my anguish, and wept. No sleep visited my eyes : it was a 
night of sorrow. 

Amid a thousand plans which I devised, and then again re- 
jected, I went to her house on the day but one following. I 
felt my poverty ; I was only a poor lad, that had been taken 
from the Campagna. My superior freedom of mind had, in 
fact, laid me in the fetters of dependence ; but my talents 
seemed really to open to me a brilliant path. Could it be a 
more brilliant one than Annunciata’s ; and how was this 
ended ? The rushing river which had gleamed forth in cas- 
cades and amid rainbows had ended in the Pontine Marsh of 
misery. 

Yet once more I felt impelled to see Annunciata, and to 
talk with her. It was the second day after our meeting that I 
again mounted up the narrow, dark stairs. The door was 
closed ; I knocked on it, and an old woman opened a side 
door, and asked if I wished to see the room, which was vacant. 

But it is quite too little for you,’^ said she. 

But the singer } ” inquired I. 

“ She has flitted,” answered the old woman ; flitted all 
away yesterday morning. Has set off on a journey, I fancy; 
it was done in a mighty hurry.” 

‘‘ Do not you know where she is gone ? ” I asked. 

‘‘ No,” returned she ; “ she did not say a word about that. 
But they are gone to Padua, or Trieste, or Ferrara, or some 
such place, as, indeed, there are so many.” And with this 
she opened the door, that I might see the empty room. 

I went to the theatre. The company had yesterday given 
their last representation ; it was now closed. 

She was gone, the unfortunate Annunciata. A bitter feel- 
ing took possession of my mind. Bernardo, thought I, is, 
after all, the cause of her misfortune, of the whole direction 


THE SINGER. 


3II 

which my life has taken. Had it not been for him she would 
have loved me ; and her love would have given to my mind a 
great strength and development. Had I at once followed 
her, and come forward as improvisatore, my triumph, per- 
haps, would have united itself to hers ; all might have been 
so different then ! Care would not then have furrowed her 
brow I 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


POGGIO. — ANNUNCIATA. — MARIA. 

P OGGIO visited me, and inquired the reason of my de- 
pression of mind ; but I could not tell him the cause ; I 
could tell it to no one. 

“ Thou lookest really,’’ said he, ‘‘ as if the bad sirocco blew 
upon thee ! Is it from the heart that this hot air comes ? 
The little bird within there may be burned ; and, as it is no 
phoenix, it may not be benefited thereby. It must now and 
then have a flight out, pick the red berries in the field, and the 
fine roses in the balcony, to get itself right. My little bird 
does so, and finds itself all the better for it ; has excellent 
spirits, sings merrily into my blood and my whole being. And 
it is that which gives me the good-humor that I have ! Thou 
must do the same also, and shalt do so 1 A poet must have a 
a sound, healthy bird in his breast — a bird which knows both 
roses and berries, the sour and the sweet, the cloudy heavens 
and the clear ether ! ” 

That is a beautiful idea about a poet,” said I. 

“ Christ became a man like the rest of us,” said he, and 
descended even down into hell to the damned ! The divine 
must unite itself to the earthly, and there will be produced 
therefrom a mighty result of — But it is really a magnifi- 
cent lecture which I am beginning. I ought, sure enough, to 
give one ; I have promised to do so ; but I fancy it was on 
another subject. What is the meaning of it, when a gentle- 
man all at once forsakes his friends ; for three whole days has 
never been to the Podesta’s house? That is abominable — 
very abominable of him ! The family is also very angry. This 
very day thou must go there, and, kneeling, like another 
Frederick Barbarossa, hold the stirrup. Not to have been for 
three days at the Podesta’s house ! I heard that from Sig- 
nora Rosa. What hast thou been doing with thyself? ” 


FOGGIO. 


313 


I have not felt well ; have not been out.” 

“No, clear friend,” interrupted he, “one knows better than 
that ! The evening before last thou wentest to the Opera 
‘La Regina di Spagna,’ in which the little Aurelia appears as 
a knight — that is, a little Orlando Furioso ! But the con- 
quest need not bring gray hairs to anybody ; it cannot be so 
difficult. However, be that as it may, thou goest with me to 
dine at the Podesta’s. There are we invited, and I have given 
my hand to take thee with me.” 

“ Poggio,” said T, gravely, “ I will tell thee the reasons 
why I have not been there, — why I shall not go there so fre- 
quently.” 

I then told him what the banker’s wife had whispered to me j 
how Venice talked about its being my design to obtain the 
beautiful Maria, who had a fortune and an estate in Calabria. 

“Nay,” cried Poggio, “I would be very glad, indeed, if 
they would say that of me ; and so thou wilt not go for that 
reason ? Yes truly, people do say so, and I believe it myself, 
because it is so natural. But whether we are right or wrong, 
that is no reason why thou shouldst be uncivil to the family. 
Maria is handsome, very handsome, has understanding and 
feeling, and thou lovest her too, — that I have seen all along 
plainly enough.” 

“ No, no,” exclaimed I, “ my thoughts are a very long way 
from love ! Maria resembles a blind child whom I once saw, a 
child which wonderfully attracted me, as a child only could. 
That resemblance has often agitated me in Maria, and has 
riveted my eye upon her.” 

“ Maria also was once blind ! ” said Poggio, in a somewhat 
serious tone ; “ she was blind when she came from Greece ; 
her uncle, the physician in Naples, performed an operation on 
her eyes which restored her sight.” 

“ My blind child was not Maria,” said I. 

“ Thy blind child ! ” repeated Poggio, merrily ; “ it must be 
a very wonderful person, however, that blind child of thine 
which could set thee a-staring at Maria, and finding out a like- 
ness ! Yes, that is only speaking figuratively ; it is the little 
blind Love with whom, once upon a time, thou madest ac- 
quaintance, and he has made thee look at Maria. Now con- 


THE IMPROVISAl'ORE. 


314 

fess it thyself! Before we ourselves are aware of it, !he nup- 
tials will be announced, and you drive off from Venice/^ 

“No, Poggio,” I exclaimed, “you affront me by talking in 
this way ; I shall never marry. My love’s dream is over. I 
never think of such a thing — never can. By the eternal 
heavens and all the saints, I neither will nor can I ” 

“Silence! silence!” cried Poggio, interrupting me, “let’s 
have no oath about it. I will believe thee, and will contradict 
everybody that says thou art in love with Maria, and that you 
are going to be married. But don’t go, and swear that you 
never will marry ; perhaps the bridal is nearer than you im- 
agine, even within this very year it is quite possible.” 

“ Thine, perhaps,” replied I, “ but mine never ! ” 

“Nay, so thou thinkest, then, that I can get married?” ex- 
claimed Poggio ; “ no, dear friend, I have no means of keep- 
ing a wife ; the pleasure would be much too expensive for 
me.” 

“ Thy marriage will take place before mine,” replied 1. 
“Perhaps even the handsome Maria may be thine, and whilst 
Venice is saying it is to me that she will give her hand, it is to 
thee.” 

“That would be badly done,” replied he, and laughed; 
“ no, I have given her a far better husband than myself Shall 
we lay a wager,” continued he, “ that thou wilt be married, 
either to Maria or some other lady ; that thou wilt be a hus- 
band, and I an old bachelor ? Two bottles of champagne we 
will bet . which we will drink on thy wedding-day.” 

“ I dare do that,” said I, and smiled. 

I was obliged to go with him to the Podesta’s. Signora 
Rosa scolded me, and so did the Podesta. Maria was silent ; 
my eye rested upon her : Venice said, actually, that she was 
my bride ! Rosa and I touched glasses. 

“ No lady may drink the health of the improvisatore,” said 
Poggio ; “ he has sworn eternal hatred against the fair sex ; 
he never will be married ! ” 

“ Eternal hatred ! ” returned I ; “ and what if I do not 
marry, cannot I honor and value still that which is beautiful 
in woman, that which more than anything else elevates and 
softens every relation of life ? ” 


POGGIO, 


315 

“ Not be married ! cried the Podesta ; that were the 
most miserable thought which your genius ever gave birth to ; 
nor either is it handsome behavior in a friend,” said he, 
jestingl}^, turning to Poggio, ‘‘ to reveal it.” 

Only to make him ashamed of it ! ” returned Poggio. 
“ He might otherwise so easily get enamored of this his only 
bad thought, and, because it is so remarkably brilliant, might 
mistake it for an original one, and regularly attach himself 
to it.” 

They jested with me, made fun of me : I could not be other 
than cheerful. Exquisite dishes and glorious wine were set 
before me. I thought upon Annunciata’s poverty, and that, 
perhaps, she was now famishing. 

‘‘You promised to send us 'Silvio Pellico’s works,” said 
Rosa, w'hen we separated. “ Do not forget it, and come, like 
a good creature, every day to us ; you have accustomed us to 
it, and nobody in Venice can be more grateful than we are.” 

I went — I went right often ; for I felt how much they loved 
me. 

About a month had now passed since my last conversation 
with Poggio, and I had not been able to speak about Annun- 
ciata \ I was, therefore, obliged to trust to chance, which often 
knits up the broken thread. 

One evening as I was at the Podesta’s, Maria seemed to me 
singularly thoughtful ; a vivid suffering seemed impressed upon 
her whole being. I had been reading to her and her aunt, 
and even during this her mind seemed abstracted. Rosa left 
the room ; never had I until now been alone with Maria ; a 
strange, inexplicable presentiment, as if of approaching evil, 
filled my breast. I endeavored to begin a conversation about 
Silvio Pellico, about the influence of political life upon the 
poetical mind. 

“ Signor Abbe,” said she, without appearing to have heard 
a word of my remarks, for her whole thoughts seemed to have 
been directed to one only subject. “Antonio,” continued she, 
with a tremulous voice, whilst the blood mantled in her cheeks, 
“ I must speak with you. A dying person has made me give 
her my hand that I would do so.” 

She paused, and I stood silent, strangely agitated by her 
words. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


316 

We are actually not so very much of strangers to each 
other,” said she, “ and yet this moment is very terrible to 
me : and as she spoke, she became as pale as death. 

“ God in heaven ! ” exclaimed I, ‘‘ what has happened ? ” 

‘‘ God’s wonderful guidance,” said she, has drawn me into 
your life’s circumstances, has made me participate in a secret, 
in a connection which no stranger ought to know ; but my lips 
are silent ; what I have promised to the dead I have not told, 
not even to my aunt.” 

AVith this she drew forth a little packet, and giving it to me, 
continued, This is destined for you ; it will tell you every- 
thing ; I have promised to deliver it into your hands ; I have 
had it in my possession for two whole days ; I knew not how 
I should be able to fulfill my promise, — I have now done it. 
Be silent, as I shall be.” 

‘‘From w'hom does it come?” inquired 1; “may I not 
know that ? ” 

“ Eternal God ! ” said she, and left the room. 

I hastened home, and opened the little packet. It con- 
tained many loose papers ; the first I saw w'as in my own hand- 
writing, a little verse written with pencil ; but underneath it 
were marked in ink three black crosses, as if they were the 
writing on a grave. It was the poem which I had thrown to 
Annunciata’s feet the first time I saw her. 

“ Annunciata ! ” sighed I deeply : “ Eternal Mother of God ! 
it comes then from her ! ” 

Among the papers lay a sealed note, upon which was in- 
scribed, “ To Antonio.” I tore it open, — yes, it was from 
her. Half of it, I saw, was written during the night of the 
evening when I had seen her ; the latter part appeared fresher ; 
it w'as extremely faint, and written with a trembling hand. I 
read : — 

“I have seen thee, Antonio! seen thee once more. It was 
my only wish, and I dreaded it for a moment, even as one 
dreads death, which, however, brings happiness. It is only 
an hour since I saw thee. AVhen thou readest this it may be 
months — not longer. It is said that those who see themselves 
will shortly die. Thou art the half of my soul — thou wast 


ANNUNCIA TA, 


317 

my thought — thee have I seen ! Thou hast seen me in my 
happiness, in my misery ! Thou wast the only one who now 
would know the poor forsaken Annunciata ! But I, also, de- 
served it. 

‘‘ I dare now speak thus to thee because when thou readest 
this I shall be no more. I loved thee — loved thee from the 
days of my prosperity to my last moment. Madonna willed 
not that we should be united in this world, and she divided us. 

I knew thy love for me before that unfortunate evening 
when the shot struck Bernardo, on which thou declared it. 
My pain at the misfortune which separated us, the great grief 
which crushed my heart bound my tongue. I concealed my 
face on the body of him whom I believed to be dead, and thou 
wast gone — I saw thee no more 1 

Bernardo was not mortally wounded, and I left him not 
before this was ascertained of a truth. Did this awaken doubt 
in your soul of my love for you ? I knew not where you were, 
nor could I learn. A few days afterwards a singular old 
woman came to me, and presented to me a note, in which you 
had written, M journey to Naples ! ^ and to which your name 
was signed. She said that you must have a passport and 
money ; I influenced Bernardo to obtain this from his uncle 
the senator. At that time my wish was a command, my word 
had power. I obtained that which I desired. Bernardo was 
also troubled about you. 

“ He became perfectly well again, and he loved me, I be- 
lieve really that he honestly loved me ; but you alone occupied 
all my thoughts. He left Rome, and I, too, was obliged to 
go to Naples. My old friend’s illness compelled me to remain 
for a month at Mola di Gaeta. When at last we arrived at 
Naples, I heard of a young improvisatore, Cenci, who had 
made his debut on the very evening of my arrival ; I had a 
presentiment that it was you — I obtained certainty thereof. 
My old friend wrote immediately to you, without giving our 
name, though she mentioned our residence. But you came 
not ; she wrote again, without the name, it is true, but you 
must have known from whom it was sent. She wrote, ‘ Come, 
Antonio, the terror of the last unfortunate moment in which 
we were together is now well over ! Come quickly ! regard 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


318 

that as a misunderstanding — all can be made right — only 
do not delay to come/ 

“ But you came not. I ascertained that you had read the 
letter, and that you had immediately set off back to Rome. 
What could I believe ? That your love was all over. I, too, 
was proud, Antonio ! the world had made my soul vain. I 
did not forget you — I gave you up, and suffered severely in 
so doing. 

My old friend died ; her brother followed after her ; they 
had been as parents to me. I stood quite alone in the world, 
but I was still its favorite ; was young and beautiful, and 
brilliant in my powers of song. That was the last year of my 
life. 

“ I fell sick on the journey to Bologna, very sick — my 
heart suffered. Antonio, I knew not that you thought still 
affectionately on me, that you, at a time when the happiness 
of the world deserted me, would press a kiss upon my hand. 
I lay sick for a year ; the property which I had accumulated 
in the two years in which I was a singer melted away ; I was 
poor, and doubly poor, for my voice was gone, sickness had 
enfeebled me. Years went on, almost seven years, and then 
we met — you have seen my poverty ! You certainly heard 
how they hissed off the Annunciata who once was drawn in 
triumph through the streets of Rome. Bitter as my fate had 
my thoughts also become ! 

“ You came to me. Like scales, all fell away from my eyes ; 
I felt that you had sincerely loved me. You said to me that 
it was I who had driven you out into the world : you knew 
not how I had loved you, had stretched, as it were, my arms 
after you ! But I have seen you — your lips have glowed 
upon my hand as in former, better times ! We are separated 
— I sit again alone in the little chamber ; to-morrow I must 
leave it — perhaps Venice! Be not anxious about me, An- 
tonio ; Madonna is good and merciful 1 Think honestly of 
me ; it is the dead which beseeches this from you, — Annun- 
ciata, who has loved you, and prays now, and — in heaven for 
you ! 

My tears streamed as I read this ; it was as if my heart 
would dissolve itself in weeping. 


ANNUNCIATA. 319 

The remainder of the letter was written some days later. 
It was the last parting : — 

‘‘ My want draws to an end ! Madonna be praised for every 
joy which she has sent me, praised be she also for every woe 1 
In my heart is death ! the blood streams from it ! only once 
more and then it is all over. 

‘‘ The most beautiful and the noblest maid in Venice is your 
bride, the people have told me. May you be happy, is the 
last wish of the dying ! I know no one in the world to whom 
I could give these lines, my last farewell, except to her. My 
heart tells me that she will come — tells me that a noble, 
womanly heart will not refuse the last refreshing draught to 
her who stands on the last step between life and death ! She 
will come to me. 

“Farewell, Antonio! my last prayer on earth, my first in 
heaven, will be for thee — for her who will be to thee what I 
never could be ! There was vanity in my heart — the world’s 
praise had set it there. Perhaps thou wouldst never have 
been happy with me, else the Madonna would not have divided 
us ! 

“Farewell ! farewell ! I feel peace in my heart — my suffer- 
ing is over — death is near 1 

“ Pray, also, thou and Maria, for me ! 

“ Annunciata.” 

The deepest pain has no words. Stupefied — overwhelmed 
— I sat and stared at the letter, which was wet with my tears. 
Annunciata had loved me 1 She was the invisible spirit 
which had conducted me to Naples. The letter had been 
from her, and not from Santa, as I imagined. Annunciata 
had been ill, sunk in poverty and misery, and now she was 
dead — certainly dead I The little note which I had given to 
Fulvia, with the words, “ I go to Naples ! ” and which she 
had taken to Annunciata, lay also in the packet of letters, to- 
gether with an opened letter from Bernardo, in which he sent 
her his farewell, and announced to her his determination to 
leave Rome and enter into foreign service, but without saying 
what. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


320 

To Maria had she given the packet of letters for me ; she 
had called Maria my bride. That empty report had also 
reached Annunciata, and she had believed it, had called Maria 
to her. What could she have said to her } 

I recalled to mind with what anxiety Maria had spoken to 
me, — thus she also knew what' Venice imagined about us 
both. I had not courage to talk to her about it, and yet I 
must do it, she was really mine and Annunciata’s good 
angel. ^7" v-: 

I took a gondola, and wa^v^oon in the room where Rosa 
and Maria sat together at^)^r work. Maria was embar- 
rassed, noir had I courage to say. what solely and alone occu- 
pied me. I answered at random, to every question, sorrow 
oppressed my soul ; when the kind-hearted Signora Rosa took 
my hand, and said, — 

“ There is some great trouble on your mind — have confi- 
dence in us.' If we cannot console, we can sorrow with a true 
friend.” 

‘‘ You really know everything ! ” exclaimed I, giving voice to 
my distress. 

“ Maria, perhaps ! ” replied the aunt ; “ but I know as good 
as nothing.” 

“ Rosa ! ” said Maria, beseechingly, and caught her hand. 

“No, before you I have no secrets ! ” said I ; “ I will tell 
you everything.” 

And I then told them about my poor childhood, about An- 
nunciata, and my flight to Naples ; but when I saw Maria sit- 
ting with folded hands before me, as Flaminia had sat, and as 
yet another being beside had sat, I was silent. I had not 
courage to speak of Lara and of the dream-picture in the 
cave, in the presence of Maria ; besides, it seemed not to 
belong to the history of Annunciata. I went on, therefore, 
directly to our meeting in Venice and our last conversation. 
Maria pressed her hands before her eyes and wept. Rosa was 
silent. 

“ Of all this I knew nothing — divined nothing ! ” said she, 
at length. “ A letter came,” continued she, “ from the hos- 
pital of the Sisters of Charity to Maria ; a dying woman, it 
said, besought her, by all the saints — by her own heart, to 


MARIA. 


321 

.2ome to lier. I accompanied her in the gondola, but as she 
was to be alone, I remained with the sisters whilst she went to 
the bed of the dying. 

‘‘ I saw Annunciata,^^ said Maria. You have received that 
which she has commissioned me to convey to you.’^ 

‘‘ And she said ? I asked. 

“ ‘ Give that to Antonio, the improvisatore ; but, unknown 
to any one.’ She spoke of you, spoke as a sister might — as 
a good spirit might speak ; and I saw blood — blood upon her 
lips. She cast up her eyes in death, and ” — Here Maria 
burst into tears. 

I silently pressed her hand to my lips ; thanked her for her 
pity, for her goodness, in going to Annunciata. 

I hurried away, and, entering a church, prayed for the 
dead. 

Never did I meet with such great kindness and friendship 
as from this moment in the house of the Podesta. I was a 
beloved brother to Rosa and Maria, who endeavored to antic- 
ipate every wish ; even in the veriest trifles I saw evidences of 
their solicitude for me. 

I visited Annunciata’s grave. The church-yard was a float- 
ing ark, with high walls — an island garden of the dead. I 
saw a green plot before me, marked with many black crosses. 
I found the grave for which I sought. ‘‘ Annunciata” was its 
sole inscription. A fresh, beautiful garland of laurels hung 
on the cross which marked it, unquestionably a gift from 
Maria and Rosa. I thanked them both for this kind atten- 
tion. 

How lovely was Maria in her gentleness ! What a wonder- 
ful resemblance had she to my image of beauty, Lara ! When 
she cast down her eyes, it seemed to me that they were, spite 
of the improbability, the same person. 

About this time I received a letter from Fabiani. I was 
now in the fourth month of my residence in Venice. This 
astonished him. He thought that I should not spend longer 
time in this city, but visit Milan or Genoa. But he left it 
quite to me to do whatever seemed the best to myself. 

That which detained me thus in Venice was that it was my 


21 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


322 

city of sorrow. As such it had greeted me on my arrival jind 
here my life’s best dream had dissolved itself in tears. Maria 
and Rosa were to me affectionate sisters, Poggio a love-wor- 
thy, faithful friend. I should find nobody like them ; but, 
nevertheless, we must part. In this my sorrow found its 
nourishment. Yes, hence — hence ! — that was my resolve ! 

I wished to prepare Rosa and Maria for it ; it was neces- 
sary that they should be made acquainted with it. In the 
evening I was sitting with them in the great hall, where the 
balcony goes over the canal. Maria wished that the servant 
should bring in the lamp, but Rosa thought that it was much 
more charming in the clear moonlight. 

Sing to us, Maria,” said she ; “ sing to us that beautiful 
song which thou learnt about the Troglodite cave. Let An- 
tonio hear it.” 

Maria sang a singular, quiet cradle-song to a low, strange 
melody. The words and the air melted one into the other, 
and revealed to heart and thought the home of beauty under 
the ethereally clear waves. 

There is something so spiritual, so transparent, in the 
whole song ! ” said Rosa. 

‘‘ Thus must spirits reveal themselves out of the body ! ” 
exclaimed I. 

“ Thus floats the world’s beauty before the blind ! ” sighed 
Maria. 

‘‘ But then it is not really so beautiful when the eyes can 
see it ? ” asked Rosa. 

Not so beautiful, and yet more beautiful ! ” replied Maria. 

Rosa then told me what I had already heard from Poggio, 
that Maria had been blind, and that her brother had given 
sight to her eyes. Maria mentioned his name with love and 
gratitude ; told me how childish her ideas had then been 
about the world around her — about the warm sun, about 
human beings, about the broad-leaved cactuses, and the great 
temples. “ In Greece there are many more than there are 
here,” remarked she, suddenly ; and there was a pause in her 
relation. 

How the strong and the beautiful in sound,” continued 
she, ‘‘ suggested to me colors. The violets were blue — the 


MARIA. 


323 

sea and heaven were blue also, they told me ; and the fra- 
grance of the violet taught me how beautiful heaven and the 
sea must be. When the bodily eye is dead, the spiritual eye 
sees more clearly. The blind learn to believe in a spirit 
world. Everything which they behold reveals itself from 
this ! 

I thought of Lara with the blue violets in her dark hair. 
The fragrance of the orange-trees led me also to Paestum, 
where violets and red gillyflowers grow among the ruins of the 
temple. AVe talked about the great beauty of nature, about 
the sea and the mountains, and Rosa longed after her beauti- 
ful Naples. 

I then told them that my departure was near, and that I, in 
a few days, must leave Venice. 

You will leave us said Rosa, astonished. “ We had not 
the slightest idea of that.’’ 

‘‘Will you not come again to Venice?” inquired Maria; 
“ come again to see your friends.” 

“ Yes, yes, certainly ! ” exclaimed I. And although that 
had not been my plan, I assured them that, from Milan, 
I would return to Rome by Venice. But did I myself be- 
lieve so ? 

I visited Annunciata’s grave, took a leaf from the garland 
which hung there, as if I should never return ; and that was 
the last time that I came there ! That which the grave pre- 
served was dust. In my heart existed the impression of its 
beauty, and the spirit dwelt with Madonna, whose image it 
was. Annunciata’s grave, and the little room where Rosa and 
Maria extended to me their hands at parting, alone were wit- 
ness to my tears and my grief. 

“ May you find a noble wife who will supply the loss which 
your heart has sustained ! ” said Rosa, at our parting. “ Bring 
her some time to my arms. I know that I shall love her, as 
you have taught me to love Annunciata ! ” 

“ Come back happy ! ” said Maria. 

I kissed her hand, and her eyes rested with an expression 
of deep emotion upon me. The Podesta stood with a spark- 
ling glass of champagne, and Poggio struck up a merry trav- 


324 


THE IMPROVISATORE, 


elling song about the rolling wheels and the bird’s song in the 
free landscape. He accompanied me in the gondola as far as 
Fusina. The ladies waved their white handkerchiefs from 
the balcony. 

How much might happen before we saw each other again ? 
Poggio was merry to an excess ; but I felt very plainly that 
it was not natural. He pressed me vehemently to his breast, 
and said that we would correspond industriously. “ Thou 
wilt tell me about thy beautiful bride, and don’t forget about 
our wager ! ” said he. 

How canst thou jest at this moment ? ” said I. “ Thoa 
knowest my determination.” 

We parted. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 


THE REMARKABLE OBJECTS IN VERONA. — THE CATHEDRAL 

OF MILAN. THE MEETING AT THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH OF 

NAPOLEON. DREAM AND REALITY. — THE BLUE GROTTO. 

T he carriage rolled away. I saw the green Bronta, the 
weeping-willows, and the distant mountains. Towards 
evening I arrived in Padua. The church of St. Antonius, with 
its seven proud domes, saluted me in the clear moonlight. All 
was animation and cheerfulness under the colonnade of the 
street ; but I felt myself a stranger and alone. 

In the sunshine all appeared to me still more unpleasing. 
Onward, yet further onward ! Travelling enlivens and chases 
away sorrow, thought I, and the carriage rolled forward. 

The country was all a great plain, but freshly green, as the 
Pontine Marshes. The lofty weeping-willows hung, like great 
cascades, over the gardens, around which stood altars with the 
holy image of the Madonna ; some of them were bleached by 
time ; the walls even on which they were painted were sunk 
in ruins, but in other places also stood newly painted pictures 
of the Mother and Child. I remarked, that the vetturino 
lifted his hat to the new pictures, the old and faded he seemed 
not to observe. It amused me wonderfully. Perhaps, how- 
ever, I saw more in it than there really was. Even the holy, 
pure image of the Madonna herself was overlooked and for- 
gotten because the earthly colors were faded. 

I passed through Vicenza, where the art of Palladio could 
cast no ray of light over my troubled heart, on to Verona, the 
first of all the cities which attracted me. The amphitheatre 
led me back to Rome, and reminded me of the Coliseum ; it 
is a pretty little model of that, more distinct, and not laid 
waste by barbarians. The spacious colonnades are converted 
into warehouses, and in the middle of the arena was erected 


THE IMPROVJSATORE. 


326 

a little booth of linen and boards, where a little theatrical 
company, as I was told, gave representations. I went in the 
evening. The Veronese sat upon the stone benches of the 
amphitheatre, where their fathers had sat before them. In 
this little theatre was acted “ La Cenerentola.’’ It was the 
company with which Annunciata had been. Aurelia per 
formed the principal parts of the opera. The whole was mis- 
erable and melancholy to witness. The old, antique theatre 
stood like a giant around the fragile wooden booth. A co7itre- 
dancc completely drowned the few instruments ; the public ap- 
plauded and called for Aurelia. I hastened away. Outside 
all was still. The great giant-building cast a broad, dark 
shadow amid the strong moonlight. 

They told me of the families of the Capuleti and Montec- 
chi, whose strife divided two loving hearts, which death again 
united — the history of Romeo and Juliet. I went up to the 
Palazzo Capuleti, where Romeo, for the first time, saw his 
Juliet, and danced with her. The house is now an inn. I as- 
cended the steps up which Romeo had stolen to love and 
death. The great dancing-hall stood there yet, with its dis- 
colored pictures on the walls, and the great windows down to 
the floor ; but all around lay hay and straw ; along the walls 
were ranged lime barrels, and in a corner were thrown down 
horse furniture and field implements. Here had once the 
proudest race of Verona floated to the sound of billowy music ; 
here had Romeo and Juliet dreamed love’s short dream. I 
deeply felt how empty is all human glory ; felt, that Flaminia 
had taken hold on the better part, and that Annunciata had 
obtained it, and I regarded my dead as happy. 

My heart throbbed as with the fire of fever ; I had no rest. 
To Milan ! thought I ; there is now my home ; and I yearned 
towards it. Towards the end of the month I was there. No ! 
there I found that I was much better at Venice, much more at 
home ! I felt that I was alone, and would make no ac- 
quaintances, would deliver none of the letters of introduction 
with which I had been furnished. 

The gigantic theatre, with its covered boxes, which range 
themselves in six rows, one above another, the whole immense 
space, which yet is so seldom filled, had in it, to me, some- 


THE CATHEDRAL OF MIL AH, 327 

thing desolate and oppressive. I once was there, and heard 
Donizetti’s Torquato Tasso.” To the most honored singer 
who was called for, and called for again, it seemed to me that, 
like a gloomy magician, I could prophesy a future full of mis- 
try, 1 wished her rather to die in this her beauty and the 
moment of her happiness ; then the world would weep over 
her, and not she over the world. Lovely children danced in 
the ballet ; my heart bled at their beauty. Never more will I 
go to La Scala. 

Alone, I wandered about the great city, through the shadowy 
streets ; alone I sat in my chamber, and began to compose a 
tragedy, Leonardo da Vinci.” Here he had actually lived ; 
here I had seen his immortal work, “ The Last Supper.” The 
legend of his unfortunate love, of his beloved, from whom the 
convent separated him, was indeed a re-echo of my own life. 
I thought of Flaminia, of Annunciata, and wrote that which 
my heart breathed. But I missed Poggio, missed Maria and 
Rosa. My sick heart longed for their affectionate attention 
and friendship. I wrote to them, but received no answer, 
neither did Poggio keep his beautiful promise of letters and 
friendship ; he was like all the rest. We call them friends, 
and, in absence, knit ourselves firmer to them ! 

I went daily to the cathedral of Milan, — that singular moun- 
tain which was torn out of the rocks of Carrara. I saw the 
church for the first time in the clear moonlight ; dazzlingly 
white stood the upper part of it in the infinitely blue ether. 
Round about, wherever I looked, from every corner, upon every 
little tower with which the building was, as it were, overlaid, 
projected marble figures. Its interior dazzled me more than 
St. Peter’s Church ; the strange gloom, the light which streamed 
through the painted windows, the wonderful mystical world 
which revealed itself here — yes, it was a church of God! 

I had been a month in Milan before I ascended the roof 
of the church. The sun blazed upon its shining, white sur- 
face ; the towers stood aloft, like churches or chapels upon a 
mighty marble space. Milan lay far below ; all around me 
presented themselves statues of saints and martyrs which my 
eye could not see from the street below. I stood up just by 
the mighty figure of Christ, which terminates the whole gigan- 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


328 

tic building. Towards the north arose the lofty, daik Alps; 
towards the south, the pale-blue Apennines ; and between 
these an immense green plain, as if it were the flat Campagna 
of Rome changed into a blooming garden. I looked towards 
the east, where Venice lay. A flock of birds of passage, in a 
long line, like a waving ribbon, sped thitherward. I thought 
of my beloved ones there, of Poggio, Rosa, and Maria ; and 
a painful yearning awoke in my breast. I could not but re- 
member the old story which I had heard, as a child, on that 
evening, when I went with my mother and Mariuccia from 
Lake Nemi, where we had seen the bird of prey, and where 
Fulvia had shown herself ; the story which Angelina had told 
about the poor Therese of Oliva no, who wasted away with 
care and longing after the slender Guiseppe, and how he was 
drawn from his northern journey beyond the mountains, and 
how the old Fulvia had cooked herbs in a copper vessel, which 
she had made to simmer for many days over the glowing coals, 
until Guiseppe was seized upon by longing, and was compelled 
to go home night and day ; to speed back without stop or 
stay, to where her vessel was boiling with holy herbs, and a 
lock of his and Therese’s hair. 

I felt that magic power within my breast which drew me 
away, and which is called, by the inhabitants of mountain 
regions, home sickness, but this it was not in me ; Venice was 
really not my home. My mind was strongly affected ; I felt, 
as it were, ill, and descended from the roof of the church. 

I found in my room a letter — it was from Poggio ; at 
length there was a letter ! It appeared from the letter that 
he had written an earlier one, which, however, I had not re- 
ceived. Everything was well and merry in Venice, but Maria 
had been ill — very ill. They had all been anxious and in 
great trouble, but now all was over ; she had left her bed, al- 
though she did not venture to go out yet. Hereupon Poggio 
joked with me, and inquired whether any young Milanese lady 
had captivated me, and besought me not to forget the cham- 
pagne and our wager. 

The whole letter was full of fun and merriment, very differ- 
ent to my own state of mind, and yet it gladdened me ; it was 
actually as if I saw the happy, fun-loving Poggio. How in 


THE MEETING AT THE ARCH OF NAPOLEON. 329 

the world can we form a true judgment of men and things? 
It was said of him that he went with a deep, secret sorrow in 
his breast, and that his gayety was only a masquerade dress \ 
that is nature. It was said that Maria was my bride, and yet 
how far from my heart ! I longed, it is true, for her, and for 
Rosa also ; but nobody said that I was in love with old Sig- 
nora Rosa. O that I were but in Venice ! Here I could not 
stay any longer ! And again I jested over this strange voice 
within my breast. 

In order to get rid of these thoughts, I went out of the gate 
above the Piazza d’Armi to the triumphal arch of Napoleon, 
— the Porta Sempione, as it is called. Here were the work- 
men in full activity. I went in through a hole in the low wall 
of boards which inclosed the whole of the unfinished build- 
ing; two large, new horses of marble stood upon the ground, 
the grass grew high above the pedestals, and all around lay 
marble blocks and carved capitals. 

A stranger stood there with his guide, and wrote down in a 
book the details which were given him ; he looked like a 
man in about his thirtieth year ; I passed him ; he had two 
Neapolitan orders on his coat ; he was looking up at the 
building — I knew him — it was Bernardo. He also saw me, 
sprang towards me, clasped me in his arms, and laughed aloud. 

“ Antonio ! ” exclaimed he, “ thanks for the last parting ; it 
was, indeed, a merry parting, with firing and effect ! We are, 
however, friends now, I imagine ? ” 

An ice-cold sensation passed through my blood. 

‘‘ Bernardo,” exclaimed I, do we see one another again at 
the north, and near the Alps ? ” 

‘‘Yes, and I come from the Alps,” said he, — “from the 
glaciers and the avalanches ! I have seen the world’s end up 
there in those cold mountains ! ” 

He then told me that he had been the whole summer in 
Switzerland. The German officers in Naples had told him so 
much about the greatness of Switzerland, and it was such a 
very easy thing to take a flight from Naples to Genoa, and 
then one gets so far ! He had been to the valley of Cha- 
mouni, ascended Mont Blanc, and the Jungfrau, “La Bella 
Ragazza,” as he called it. “ She is the coldest that ever I 
knew,” said he. 


THE IMFRO VISA TORE. 


330 

We went together to the new amphitheatre, and back to the 
city. He told me that he was now on his way to Genoa, to 
visit his bride and her parents, that he was just upon the point 
of becoming a sober, married man ; invited me to accompany 
him, and whispered, laughing, into my ear, — 

You tell me nothing about my tame bird, about our little 
singer, and all those histories! You have now learned your- 
self that they belong to a young heart’s history ; my bride 
might otherwise easily get a headache, and she is quite too 
dear to me for that I ” 

It was impossible for me to mention Annunciata to him, for 
I felt that he had never loved her as I had done. 

“Now, go with me!” urged he. “There are pretty girls in 
Genoa, and now you are become old and rational, and have 
got some taste for these things. Naples has been the making 
of you ! Is it not so ? In about three days I shall set off. 
Go with me, Antonio ! ” 

“ But I set off to-morrow morning, also,” said I, involun- 
tarily. I had not thought of this before, but now the thing 
was said. 

“ Where ? ” inquired he, 

‘‘To Venice ! ” replied I. 

“ But you can change your plan 1 ” continued he, and 
pressed his own very much upon me. 

I assured him so strongly about the necessity of my journey, 
that I also began to see myself that I must go. 

I had within myself neither peace nor rest, and arranged 
everything for my journey, as if it had been for a long time 
my determination. 

It was the invisible guidance of God's wonderful Provi- 
dence which led me away from Milan. It was impossible for 
me to sleep at night : I lay for some hours on my bed in a 
short, wild fever-dream, in a state of waking sickness. “ To 
Venice ! ” cried the voice within my breast. 

I saw Bernardo for the last time ; bade him to salute his 
bride for me : and then flew back again whither I had come 
two months before. 

At some moments it seemed to me as if I had taken poison, 
which thus fomented my blood. An inexplicable anxiety 
drove me onward — what coming evil was at hand ? 


DREAM AND REALIDY, 


331 

I approached Fusina, saw again Venice, with its gray walls, 
the tower of St. Mark’s, and the Lagunes ; and then all at 
once vanished my strange unrest, my yearning and anxiety, 
and there arose within me another feeling, what shall I call it? 
— shame of myself, displeasure, dissatisfaction. I could not 
comprehend what it was that I wanted here, felt how foolishly 
I had behaved, and it seemed to me that everybody must say 
so, and that everybody would ask me, ‘‘ What art thou doing 
again in Venice ? ” 

I went to my old lodgings ; dressed myself in haste, and 
felt that I must immediately pay a visit to Rosa and Maria, 
however enfeebled and excited I might feel. 

What, however, would they say to my arrival ? 

The gondola neared the palace ; what strange thoughts can 
enter the human breast ! What if thou shouldst now enter at 
a moment of festivity and rejoicing ? What if Maria be a 
bride ? But, what then ? I really did not love her ! I had 
said so a thousand times to myself ; a thousand times had as- 
sured Poggio, and every one else who had said so, that I did 
not ! 

I saw once more the gray-green walls, the lofty windows, 
and my heart trembled with yearning. I entered the house. 
Solemnly and silently the servant opened the door, expressed 
no surprise at my arrival. It seemed to me that quite another 
subject occupied him. 

‘‘The Podesta is always at home to you, signor ! ” said he. 

A stillness, as of death, reigned in the great hall ; the cur- 
tains were drawn. Here had Desdemona lived, thought I ; 
here, perhaps, suffered ; and yet Othello suffered more severely 
than she did. How came I now to think of this old history ? 

I went to Rosa’s apartment ; here also the curtains were 
drawn — it was in a half-darkness, and I felt again that 
strange anxiety which had accompanied me in the whole jour- 
ney, and had driven me back to Venice. A trembling went 
through all my limbs, and I was obliged to support myself 
that I did not fall. 

The Podesta then came in ; he embraced me, and seemed 
glad to see me again. I inquired after Maria and Rosa — and 
it seemed to me that he became very grave. 


THE IMPROVISATORR, 


332 

“ They are gone away ! said he ; have made a little 
journey with another family to Padua. They will return cither 
to-morrow or the day after/’ 

I know not wherefore, but I felt as if I doubted his word ; 
perhaps it was the fever in my blood, the wild fever, which my 
pain of mind had increased, and which now approached the 
period of its breaking forth. This it was which had operated 
upon my whole spiritual being, and had occasioned the jour- 
ney back. 

At the supper-table I missed Rosa and Maria ; nor was the 
Podesta as he used to be. It was, he said, a lawsuit which 
had rather put him out of sorts, but it was nothing of conse- 
quence. 

“ Poggio is not anywhere to be met with either,” said he. 
“ All misfortunes come together ; and you are ill ! Yes, it is 
a merry soiree — we must see if the wine cannot cheer us up ! 
But you are pale as death ! ” exclaimed he, all at once, and I 
felt that everything vanished from my sight. I had fallen into 
a state of unconsciousness. 

It was a fever, a violent nervous fever. 

I only know that I found myself in a comfortable, darkened 
chamber ; the Podesta was sitting beside me, and said that I 
should remain with him, and that I should soon be well again. 
Rosa, he said, should nurse me ; but he never mentioned 
Maria. 

I was in a state of consciousness, as it were between sleep 
and awake. After a time I heard it said that the ladies had 
arrived, and that I should soon see them ; and I did see Rosa, 
but she was much troubled. It seemed to me that she wept, 
but that, indeed, could not be for me, for I felt myself already 
much stronger. 

It was evening ; there prevailed an anxious silence around 
me, and yet a movement. They did not answer my questions 
distinctly ; my hearing seemed quickened, I heard that many 
people were moving about in the hall below me, and I heard, 
too, the strokes of the oars of many gondolas, and the reality 
was made known to me as I half slumbered — they imagined 
that I was asleep. 

Maria was dead. Poggio had mentioned to me her illness, 


DREAM AND REAL/TV. 


333 

and had said that now she was recovered, but a relapse had 
caused her death. She was going to be buried this evening, 
but all this they had concealed from me. Maria’s death, like 
an invisible power, had weighed upon my life ! For her was 
that strange anxiety which I had felt, but I had come too late : 
I should behold her no more. She was now in the world of 
spirits, to which she had always belonged. Rosa had cer- 
tainly adorned her coffin with violets : the blue, fragrant flow- 
ers which she loved so much, now that she slept with the 
flowers. 

I lay immovably still, as in a death-sleep, and heard Rosa 
thank God for it : she then went away from me. There was 
not a single creature in the room ; the evening was dark and I 
felt my strength wonderfully invigorated. I knew that in the 
church de^ Frati was the burial-place of the Podesta’s family, 
and that during the night the dead would be placed before the 
altar. I must see her — I rose up — my fever was gone — I 
was strong. I threw my cloak around me — no one saw me, 
and I entered a gondola. 

My whole thought was of the dead. The church doors 
were closed, because it was long after the Ave Maria. I 
knocked at the sexton’s door : he knew me, had seen me be- 
fore in the church with the Podesta’s family, and showed me 
within the graves of Canova and Titian. 

“ Do you wish to see the dead ? ” asked he, guessing my 
thoughts : she lies at the altar in the open coffin ; to-morrow 
she will be placed in the chapel.” 

He lighted candles, took out a bunch of keys, and opened a 
little side door ; our footsteps re-echoed through the lofty, 
silent vault. He remained behind, and I went slowly through 
the long empty passage ; a lamp burned feebly and dimly 
upon the altar before the image of the Madonna. The white 
marble statues around the tomb of Canova stood like the dead 
in their shrouds, silently and with uncertain outlines. Before 
the principal altar three lights were burning. I felt no anxiety, 
no pain — it was as if I myself belonged also to the dead, 
and that I was now entering into my own peculiar home. I 
approached the altar ; the fragrance of violets was diffused 
around ; the rays of light fell from the lamp into the open 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


334 

coffin down upon the dead. It was Maria ; she seemed to 
sleep ; she lay like a marble image of beauty bestrewn with 
violets. The dark hair was bound upon the forehead, and 
was adorned with a bouquet of violets ; the closed eyes, the 
image of perfect peace and beauty, seized upon my soul. Tt 
was Lara whom I saw, as she sat in the ruins of the temple, 
when I impressed a kiss upon her brow ; she was a dead mar- 
ble statue, without life or warmth. 

“ Lara ! ” exclaimed I, “ in death thy closed eyes, thy 
silent lips, speak to me : I know thee — have known thee in 
Maria ! My last thought in life is death with thee ! ” 

My heart found relief in tears ; I wept ; my tears fell upon 
the countenance of the dead, and I kissed the tears away. 

“ All have left me ! sighed 1 ; “ thou also, the last of 
whom my heart dreamed ! Not as for Annunciata, not as for 
Flaminia, burned my soul for thee! — it was the pure, true 
love, which angels feel, that my heart cherished for thee ; and 
I did not believe that it was love, because it was more spiritual 
than my outward thought! Never have I understood it — 
never ventured to express it to thee ! Farewell, thou ! the 
last, my heart’s bride ! Blessed be thy slumber ! ” 

I pressed a kiss upon her brow. 

My soul’s bride ! ” continued I, “ to no woman will I give 
my hand. Farewell ! farewell ! ” 

I took off my ring, placed it on Lara’s finger, and lifted my 
eyes to the invisible God above us. At that moment a horror 
passed through my blood, for it seemed to me as if the hand 
of the dead returned the pressure of mine ; it was no mistake. 
I fixed my eyes upon her ; the lips moved ; everything around 
me was in motion : I felt that my hair rose upon my head. 
Horror, the horror of death, paralyzed my arms and my feet ; 
[ could not escape. 

“ I am cold,” whispered a voice behind me. 

“ Lara ! Lara ! ” I cried, and all was night before my eyes, 
but it seemed to me that the organ played a soft, touching 
melody. A hand passed softly over my head ; rays of light 
forced their way to my eyes ; everything became so clear, so 
bright ! 

“ Antonio ! ” whispered Rosa, and I saw her. The lamp 


DREAM AND REALITY, 


335 

burned upon the table, and beside my bed lay a kneeling 
figure, and wept. I saw then that I beheld reality before me, 
that my horror was only that of wild fever-dream. 

Lara ! Lara ! ’’ exclaimed I. She pressed her hands be - 
fore her eyes. But what had I said in my delirium ? Thij 
thought stood vividly before my remembrance, and 1 read in 
Maria’s eyes that she had been witness to my heart’s confes- 
sions. 

“ The fever is over,” whispered Rosa. 

‘‘Yes; I feel myself much better — much better,” ex- 
claimed I, and looked at Maria. She rose up, and was about 
to leave the room. 

“ Do not go from me ! ” I prayed, and stretched forth my 
hands after her. 

She remained, and stood silently blushing before me. 

“ I dreamt that you were dead,” said I. 

“ It was a delirious dream ! ” exclaimed Rosa, and handed 
to me the medicine which the physician had prescribed. 

“ Lara, Maria, hear me ! ” I cried. “ It is no delirious 
dream ! I feel life returned back to my blood ! My whole 
life must then have been a strange dream. We have seen one 
another before ! You heard my voice before, at Paestum, at 
Capri. You know it again, Lara ! I feel it ; life is so short, 
why, then, not offer to each other our hands in this brief meet- 
ing ? ” 

I extended my hand towards her ; she pressed it to her 
lips. 

“ I love thee ; have always loved thee ! ” said I ; and with- 
out a word, she sank on her knees beside me. 

Love, says the Myth, brought chaos into order and created 
the world. Before every loving heart creation renews itself. ^ 
From Maria’s eyes I drank in life and health. She loved me. 
When a few days were passed we stood alone in the little 
room, where the oiange-trees breathed forth fragrance from 
the balcony. Here had she sung to me, but in softer tones, 
more spiritual and deeper, sounded to my ear the confession 
of the noblest of hearts. I had made no mistake ; Lara and 
Maria were one and the same person. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


336 

I have always loved thee ! said she. “ Thy song awoke 
longing and pain in my breast, when I was bh.nd and solitary 
with my dreams, and knew only the fragrance of the violets. 
And the warm sun ! how its beams burned thy kiss into my 
forehead — into my heart ! The blind possess only a spiritual 
world ; and in that I beheld thee ! The night after I heard 
thy improvisation in the temple of Neptune, at Pcestum, I had 
a singular dream, which blended itself with reality. A gypsy 
woman had told me my fortune — that I should again receive 
my sight. I dreamed about her, dreamed that she said I must 
go with Angelo, my old foster-father, and sail across the sea 
to Capri ; that in the AVitches^ Cave I should receive again the 
light of my eyes ; that the Angel of Life would give me herbs, 
which, like Tobias’s, should enable my eyes again to behold 
God’s world. The dream was repeated again the same night. 
I told it to Angelo, but he only shook his head. 

“ The next night, in the morning hour, he dreamed it him- 
self, on which he said, “ Blessed be the power of Madonna ; 
the bad spirits must even obey her ! ” 

“AVe arose ; he spread the sail, and we flew across the sea. 
The day passed, evening came, and night, but I was in a 
strange world, heard how the Angel of Life pronounced my 
name — and the voice sounded like thine. He gave us herbs 
and great riches — treasure collected from the different coun- 
tries of the world. 

‘‘ AVe boiled the herbs ; but no light came to my eyes. One 
day, however, Rosa’s brother came to Paestum ; he came into 
our cottage, where I lay, and, affected by the yearning desire 
which I expressed to see God’s beautiful world, he promised 
me sight to my eyes, took me with him to Naples, and there I 
saw the great magnificence of life. He and Rosa became 
very fond of me ; they opened to me another and a more 
beautiful world — that of the soul. I remained with them ; 
they called me Maria, after a beloved sister, who was dead in 
Greece. 

“ One day Angelo brought to me the rich treasure, and said 
that it was mine. His death, he said, was at hand ; that he 
had expended his last strength in bringing me my own inher- 
itance ; and his words were the last of a dying man. I saw 
him expire, — him, the only protector of my poverty ! 


DREAM AND REALITY, 


337 

One evening, Rosa’s brother inquired from me very seri- 
ously about my old foster-father, and the treasure which he 
had brought. I knew no more than that which he had said, 
that the spirit in the glittering cave had given him this. I 
knew that we had always lived in poverty. Angelo could not 
be a pirate — he was so pious \ every little gift he divided 
with me.” 

I then told her how singularly her life’s adventure had 
blended itself with mine ; how I had seen her with the old 
man in the wonderful grotto. That the old man himself took 
the heavy vessel I would not tell her, but I told her that I gave 
her the herbs. 

“ But,” exclaimed she, “ the spirit sank into the earth as it 
reached to me the herbs ! So Angelo told me.” 

“ It appeared so to him,” I returned ; I was debilitated ; 
my feet could not sustain me ; I sank on my knees, and then 
fainted among the long green grass.” 

That wondrously glittering world in which we had met was 
the indissoluble — the firm knot between the supernatural and 
the real. 

‘‘Our love is of the spiritual world !” exclaimed I; “all 
our love tended towards the world of spirits ; towards that we 
advance in our earthly life ; wherefore, then, not believe in 
it ? It is precisely the great reality ! ” And I pressed Lara 
to my heart ; she was beautiful as she was the first time I saw 
her. 

“ I recognized thee by thy voice when I first heard thee in 
Venice,” said she ; “ my heart impelled me towards thee ; I 
fancy that even in the church, before the face of the Mother 
of God, I should have fallen at thy feet. I saw thee here ; 
learned to value thee more and more ; was conducted, as it 
were, a second time into thy life’s concerns, when Annunciata 
hailed me as thy bride ! But thou repelledst me ; said that 
thou wouldst never love again! — never wouldst give thy 
hand to any woman I — never mentioned Lara, Paestum, or 
Capri, when thou relatedst to us the singular destiny of thy 
life ? Then I believed that thou never hadst loved me ; that 
thou hadst forgotten that which did not lie near to thy 
heart I ” 


22 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


338 

I impressed a kiss of reconciliation upon her hand, and said 
how strangely her glance had closed my lips. Not until my 
body lay bound, as it were, for the grave, and my spirit itself 
floated into the world of spirits, in which our love was so won- 
derfully knit together, had I ventured to express the thoughts 
of my heart. 

No stranger, only Rosa and the Podesta knew of the hap- 
piness of our love. How gladly would I have told it to Pog- 
gio. He had, while I was sick, visited me many times during 
the day. I saw that he looked extremely pale, when, after 
I had left my room, I pressed him to my heart in the clear 
light of the sun. 

Come to us this evening, Poggio,’^ said the Podesta to 
him ; ‘‘ but come without fail. You will only find here the 
family, Antonio, and two or three other friends.” 

All was festally arranged. 

‘‘ It is really as if it were to be a name’s day,” said 
Poggio. 

The Podesta conducted him and the other friends to the lit- 
tle chapel, where Lara gave me her hand. A bouquet of blue 
violets was fastened in her dark hair. The blind girl of Paes- 
tum stood seeing, and doubly beautiful, before me. She was 
mine. 

All congratulated us. The rejoicing was great. Poggio 
sang merrily, and drank health upon health. 

“ I have lost my wager,” said I, but I lose it gladly, be- 
cause my loss is the winning of happiness,” and I impressed a 
kiss on Lara’s lips. 

The gladness of the others sounded like tumultuous music ; 
mine and Lara’s was silent ; great joy, like great sorrow, has 
no language so eloquent, so expressive as silence. 

‘‘ Life is no dream,” thought I ; and the happiness of 
love is a reality.” 

Two days after the bridal, Rosa accompanied us from Ven- 
ice. We went to the estate which had been purchased for 
Maria. I had not seen Poggio since the bridal evening. I 
now received a letter from him which said merely, — 


DREAM AND REALITY. 


339 


"I won the wager, and yet I lost ! 

He was not to be met with in Venice. After some time my 
conjecture became certainty ; he had loved Lara. Poor Pog- 
gio ! thy lips sang of gladness, but thoughts of death filled 
thy heart ! 

Francesca thought Lara ver}^ charming ; I myself had won 
infinitely in this journey, and she, Excellenza, and Fabiani, all 
applauded my choice. Habbas Dahdah even smiled over his 
whole face as he congratulated me. 

Of the old acquaintance there is yet living, in 1837, Uncle 
Peppo ; he sits upon the Spanish Steps, where, for many years, 
certainly, he will say his “ bo 7 i giorno P* 


On the 6th of March, 1834, a great many strangers were as- 
sembled in the Hotel at Pagan i, on the island of Capri. The 
attention of all was attracted by a young Calabrian lady of 
extraordinary beauty, whose lovely dark eyes rested on her 
husband, who gave her his arm. It was I and Lara. We had 
now been married three happy years, and were visiting, on a 
journey to Venice, the island of Capri, where the most won- 
derful event of our life occurred, and where it would clear it- 
self up. 

In one corner of the room stood an elderly lady, and held 
a little child in her arms. A foreign gentleman, tolerably tall 
and somewhat pale, with strong features, and dressed in a 
blue frock-coat, approached the child, laughed with it, and 
was transported with its loveliness ; he spoke French, but to 
the child a few Italian words ; gave merry leaps to make it 
laugh ; and then gave it his mouth to kiss. He asked what 
was its name? and the old lady, my beloved Rosa, said it was 
Annunciata. 

“ A lovely name ! ” said he, and kissed the little one — mine 
and Lara’s. 

I advanced to him ; he was Danish : there was still a coun 
tryman of his in the room, a grave little man, with an intelli- 
gent look, and dressed in a white surtout. I accosted them 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


340 

politely ; they were countr}^men of Federigo and the great 
Thorwaldsen. The first, I found, was in Denmark, the latter 
in Rome ; he, indeed, belongs to Italy, and not to the cold, 
dark north. 

We went down to the shore, and took one of those little 
boats which are calculated to take out strangers to the other 
side of the island. Each boat held but two persons : one sat 
at each end, and the rower in the middle. 

I saw the clear water below us. It saluted my remem- 
brance with its ethereal clearness. The rower worked his 
oars rapidly, and the boat in which I and Lara were seated 
flew forward with the speed of an arrow. We soon lost sight 
of the amphitheatre-like side of the island, where the green 
vineyards and orange-trees crown the cliffs ; and, now, the 
rocky wall rose up perpendicularly towards the sky. The 
water was blue as burning sulphur ; the blue billows struck 
against the cliffs, and over the blood-red sea-apples which 
grow below. 

We were now on the opposite side of the island, and saw 
only the perpendicular cliffs, and in them, above the surface 
of the water, a little opening, which seemed not large enough 
for our boat. 

‘‘ The Witches’ Cave ! ” exclaimed I, and all the recollec- 
tions of it awoke in my soul. 

“ Yes, the Witches’ Cave ! ” said the rower ; “ it was called 
so formerly ; but now people know what it is ! ” 

He then told us about the two German painters. Fries and 
Kopisch, who three years before had ventured to swim into it, 
and thus discovered the extraordinary beauty of the place, 
which now all strangers visit. 

We neared the opening, which raised itself scarcely more 
than an ell above the blue shining sea. The rower took in his 
oars ; and we were obliged to stretch ourselves out in the 
boat, which he guided with his hands, and we glided into a 
dark depth below the monstrous rocks which were laved by 
the great Mediterranean. I heard Lara breathe heavily ; 
there was something strangely fearful in it ; but, in hardly 
more than a moment, we were in an immensely large vault, 
where all gleamed like the ether. The water below us was 


THE BLUE GROTTO, 


341 

like a blue burning fire, which lighted up the whole. All 
around was closed ; but below the water, the little opening by 
which we had entered prolonged itself almost to the bottom 
of the sea, to forty fathoms in depth, and expanded itself to 
about the same width. By this means the strong sunshine 
outside threw a light within upon the floor of the grotto, and 
streaming in now like a fire through the blue water, seemed to 
change it into burning spirits of wine. Everything gave back 
the reflection of this ; the rocky arch — all seemed as if formed 
of consolidated air, and to dissolve away into it. The water- 
drops which were thrown up by the motion of the oars, 
dropped red, as if they had been fresh rose-leaves. 

It was a fairy world, the strange realm of the mind. Lara 
folded her hands ; her thoughts were like mine. Here had 
we been once before — here had the sea-robbers forgotten 
their treasure, when no one ventured to approach the spot. 
Now was every supernatural appearance cleared up in reality, 
or reality had passed over into the spiritual world, as it does 
always here in human life, where everything, from the seed of 
the flower to our own immortal souls, appears a miracle ; and 
yet man will not believe in miracles ! 

The little opening to the cave which had shone like a clear 
star was now darkened for a moment, and then the other boats 
seemed to ascend as if from the deep. They came into 
the cave. All was contemplation and devotion. The Prot- 
estant, as well as the Catholic, felt here that miracles still 
exist. 

“ The water rises ! ” said one of the seamen. We must go 
out, or else the opening will be closed ; and then we shall 
have to remain here till the water falls again ! 

AVe left the singularly beaming cave ; the great open sea 
lay outstretched before us, and behind us the dark opening of 
the Grotto Azzurra. 


THE END. 








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